


The External Conscience of Modgud Gaunt

by servatia83



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Development, Character Study, Gen, Stuff that actually happened on one German realm, rp-events, why am i even posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 06:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 24,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10327328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servatia83/pseuds/servatia83
Summary: As a Forsaken and an Apothecary, Modgud is bound to turn against the living with most of the rest of her kind. But the world is full of people – and full of life. Life that fascinates her more and more.





	1. Chantaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((First things first: All of these things happened one way or another. The people in question all had those names (one of them I translated into English), and if any one of them recognises themselves (which I highly doubt) and would like me to anonymise them, I will, of course, do so. I also left a few people out because I wrote this mainly to remind myself of Modgud’s past in case I ever went back to her, and that particular person had no longer a place in her history.))_

The first time Modgud met Chantaz, she stumbled into the inn in Hammerfall. She was tired, and it made her angry beyond words. Being a Forsaken, you’d think she didn’t need sleep or food. Perhaps, she thought, her body remembered, something akin to phantom pain. She placed her bag on the bench beside her and started looking through it. After a few moments, Modgud swore loudly. A patrol from Stromgarde Keep had attacked her on the way and all her precious vials had been broken. She emptied the glass shards onto the table and frowned.

‘Ya be careful, mon.’

Modgud jumped violently and stared at the Troll who had sneaked up on her and stood more than an arm’s length away. She barely suppressed a shudder. She didn’t like Trolls. Not because as a Forsaken she felt obliged to feel above the other peoples of the Horde. She didn’t. No, seriously, she didn’t. But Trolls … Maybe it was the tusks, or maybe the accent. Modgud neither knew nor cared, really. Her answer was, therefore, a rather curt one. ‘Yeah.’ With that, the conversation should be over.

‘Ya been walking here?’

Modgud sighed. ‘Yes. All the way from Tarren Mill.’

‘That be far. Ya need bottles?’

She shrugged. ‘Does anyone sell vials here?’

‘No, but Chantaz has some.’ He started digging in his backpack and produced three vials. ‘There. Take them.’

Feeling guilty as well as surprised, Modgud forced a smile onto her face. ‘Thanks, that’s great.’

Chantaz wasn’t done. ‘Go buy yaself a raptor. You be faster. Chantaz got one. Wanna see?’

Amused, her smile turned a notch more honest. ‘Yeah, why not?’ She followed Chantaz outside and to the side of the inn, where the beast was tethered. ‘I’d rather not get too close though.’ It looked tame enough, but who knew with those creatures?

‘No, Chantaz teach his raptor not to eat Forsaken.’ He grinned. ‘Chantaz gotta be on his way. Ya got a name?’

‘Modgud,’ she said simply. ‘Call me Mo.’

Ϡ

The second time Modgud met Chantaz, she had forgotten the first encounter. Completely and absolutely, until she was fighting for her life in the badlands, surrounded by a group of murderous birds. She threw her arms into the air, channelling energy to the floor in a desperate attempt to free herself. The ring of ice around her held them, but only for a moment. Then they were upon her again.

An incomprehensible challenge rent the air, and a raptor rushed towards her. The huge beast gripped one of the birds and threw the bloody body away to the side. A whirling staff hit two birds in mid-flight. A fourth turned blue with frost, fell to the floor, and shattered. Modgud cheered at her saviour and cast a small fireball at the last animal. She was out of breath.

‘Ya be careful, mon.’

And with those words, she recognised him. ‘Chantaz! Thank you. Thank you so much.’

He grinned broadly. ‘Ya need help?’

Modgud beamed at him. She had never been so happy to see a Troll. ‘Yes, I might.’

‘Chan might need someone else, too. Ya come with me, mon.’

Ϡ

The third and last time Modgud met Chantaz, she ran into him in Orgrimmar. She recognised him at once, this time. In her defence, she wasn’t in any danger to be torn to shreds.

‘Chan has a new tattoo,’ he informed her proudly.

Modgud scratched her head. ‘I’ve always been wondering,’ she answered, ‘if I should get one. But I never dared. And I don’t know if it’s possible for me.’

Chantaz eyed her carefully. ‘Go to Bloodhoof in an hour. He’ll be there, who did mine. Tell him Chan sent you and he’ll talk to ya.’

Modgud smiled and nodded. ‘I actually think I’ll do that. Has that tattooer a name?’

‘Sure. He’s Razza’jin.’

Modgud sighed. Another Troll. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea, but she decided to trust Chantaz. Later, she sometimes looked back to this moment. And whenever she did, she realised her life would have been very different if she had decided not to go.


	2. Bloodhoof Dancers

What she had expected, she wasn’t entirely certain. She didn’t find it overly strange that she was the only Forsaken at the gathering. She didn’t even find it strange that she was alone amongst three or so Trolls, either. But when more of them came, she felt a growing sense of apprehension.

They were an odd bunch, Modgud decided. She felt horribly out of place and increasingly scared. The bulky Troll practically dragging a female to the place didn’t help much. ‘Ya stay here. I’ll be getting ya if ya don’t be back by night like ya should.’ He pushed her towards the others, hard. After that there was a short exchange with one of the others in the Trolls’ language and he left. Modgud glanced at the defeated looking female and shook her head.

She spent hours there, intrigued despite herself. She merely listened and watched, keeping her distance and her silence. She didn’t know when she had last been somewhere so brimful of life. Undercity was what she called her home, but it could never compete with … this.

Modgud was a rational being, so she tried to analyse what she was feeling and why. There was envy. Envy, not jealousy. She watched a druid dancing and transforming slowly into that tree-shape she had seen a few times, her movements becoming more like that of a tree swaying in the wind. She watched them eat, drink, laugh.

One of the Trolls, a particularly tall one, approached her. ‘Ya wanna eat something?’ He offered her a plate with various fried meats and vegetables. He looked a little uncertain. ‘Ya eat, right?’

Modgud smiled. ‘I do. Thank you.’

‘Why ya be here?’ His language was so crude Modgud wondered if he wanted to tell her to leave, but his expression was friendly enough.

‘Chantaz sent me. I am looking for a tattooer. A certain Razza’jin.’

The Troll’s smile grew wide. ‘Ya found him. Razza talk to ya later. Now must make palaver with Akamu.’ He winked and strolled away.

Modgud eyed him curiously. He was as tall as the one who had delivered the female Troll, who was getting a little tipsy and much less cowed than she had been, Modgud thought. Looking more closely, she found Razza was definitely ganglier than the other, bulky Troll, and probably taller, too. The typical S-shaped stance was so pronounced in him that it was hard to tell how much, though.

Razza was wearing nothing but a wide blue kilt whose hem brushed his instep. His entire back was covered with a huge tattoo of a bat-like creature. She felt magic emanating from him, and her experience told her he was a priest, more precisely, a healer.

He talked to a warrior for a while before he joined in the druid’s dance, only much more wildly, his mane falling into his face. Modgud also watched the female Troll who had been brought by her mate. It was getting dark, but he wasn’t back. The girl’s eyes hardly left Razza’jin, and the look on her face spoke volumes. They had talked before, long and quietly, and now she rose and started to dance, too. He turned to her, his movements slower, his expression gentle and kind. They were playing with fire, and they knew it.

Feeling increasingly like a voyeur, Modgud decided to leave. She considered approaching the feisty priest again, but thought better of it. Who knew how a Troll might react if you interrupted his philandering? Also, she saw the bulky Troll approaching, the one who had brought the female.

It was late and only a few had stayed this long. The priest, being a priest, would be no match for the huge angry Troll. The female was obviously frightened out of her wits and wouldn’t defend herself, even if she could. The others would probably stay out or think it was the bulky Troll’s right to guard his property. Modgud considered waiting if all went well. Considered helping the girl if need be. Considered … but why would she? This had to lead to more trouble than she cared to get herself into. Modgud fled, pushing Razza’jin, the girl, and the entire insane idea to come here in the first place firmly from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((I started playing back in the Classic days where mages had the spell Detect Magic. I tended to use that a lot on new encounters, unless they were visibly magical. At the time I met Razza, I believe, the spell had been removed already, but since then I assumed mages are still able to tell if someone else has some magic or not. She tended to confuse Shamans and Druids, which is both very foreign magic for her, the classes Forsaken (and humans) can have she almost always recognised reliably.))_


	3. Bones

‘Gaunt, wait on.’

Modgud halted and looked back at Holland. He had come to the Apothecarium for reagents, but apparently that wasn’t all. ‘Yes?

‘I got something for you from Ogden. You remember Ogden?’

Modgud frowned. ‘No? Who’s that?’ She saw Faranell rolling his eyes at her, but Holland didn’t notice.

‘Who’s that?’ He looked flustered. ‘Well … you know … your father …’

Modgud waved him away. ‘Of course I know, Holland. What about Ogden? He’s dead. Really dead.’

‘He is, but you are his heir. Unfortunately there isn’t much left to inherit. Just these notes here.’ Holland extended a hand and offered two pieces of parchment. He let go before she had a chance to grab them. Judging from his miffed expression at her little joke, he’d done it on purpose. ‘Not that it’ll do you much good.’

Modgud collected the parchments he’d dropped and tipped a non-existent hat in farewell before striding over to the herbalist. She nodded at the other Forsaken and retreated into the corner behind her to read the first parchment, a letter in a slanting, elegant hand.

Ϡ

_Dear Modgud,_

_I gave this to the bank of Lordaeron. When I die, it is yours._

_As you know, I am terminally ill. Never forget that Alchemy is a dangerous thing. Some things you can only try on yourself, and one of my experiments went horribly wrong. At least I shall not share the fate of those poor sods that die of the plague._

_If I were in your shoes, I would want to take revenge for the humiliation of being sold, and even though I understand your anger, I cannot allow you to dedicate your time and energy to a personal crusade as long as there are people to be saved. If this mess does end well, however, this may guide you on your attempt to exact revenge on your father._

_All the best,_

_Bohannon Ogden_

Ϡ

The other parchment was barely more than a scrawl.

Ϡ

_My diary is in a safe place: The crypt of the Agamand family. Thank you for the advice. Magor._

Ϡ

Agamand’s crypt … Not a pleasant place. The scourge infested the mill and its surroundings with a relentlessness that was astounding for mindless creatures. Modgud ignored them as far as she could, and they did likewise. Apparently they had sentience enough to realise they were no match for her. She found the diary without much difficulty, or at least, what remained of it. It was tattered, stained, and there were pages missing. She shook her head and left in a hurry. The spirits were losing their respect and drawing closer to her, reaching for her mind as well as her body. She had to get out.

Back outside, Modgud made her way to the Undercity. In the Apothecarium she retreated to a quiet corner and filed through her plunder. It was the same hand as the little scrap of parchment that had sent her to the mill. She recognised similarities to her own hand: the same little dash through the lower-case T, the same ornament added to the capital L.

It wasn’t, she found out, a diary in the usual sense. There were no indications of when the entries were made, one followed directly after the other. Only the slight changes in the colour of the ink told where one entry ended and the next one began. Apparently, it wasn’t supposed to be read by anyone but the author.

The hand was hard to decipher, even more so than her own. She took a deep breath and went back to the beginning.


	4. A Dead Man’s Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _((Chapter heading is a nod to_ A Dead Man’s Song _by Chamber.))_

_The creature has cast again. Another creature. Should’ve slain it at once, soon as I knew. No working power. Why am I not granted a male descendant? What’ve I done to deserve that?_

_Will slay the next creature. Keeping this one long as need to. Should someone want it they can have it. No matter what the reasons. No use for another creature._

Ϡ

_Creature’s dead. The old one. Impractical, really. On the other hand one mouth less. Not taking a new one. One more here. Should change that._

Ϡ

_Peace, at last. Last creature gone. One in Lordaeron with Ogden. Bloody poisoners. All smug about it, thinks he’s something better. Can do what he wants with her. Might need her for experiments. Wouldn’t be much of a loss. I’ll add to the piece of gold somehow._

Ϡ

_Should have kept the older creature. Was quite useful after all. Pointless. Need gold._

_Got Gold. Not much, but at least a bit. Bloke I got it from won’t need it no longer._

_Ogden in Lordaeron turning younger creature into poisoner. Doesn’t deserve it. Best she gathers poisons for him and chokes on the fumes. Might as well poison the faithless creature, too. Agamand says she keeps visiting her disgusting sister. Having problems. Serves her well._

_~~If anyone knew~~ _ _But no one does know, and no one will. Ever._

_If I could be certain that no one can lay their fingers on this … But how do I make certain? Agamand?_

_Oh beautiful Lordaeron, what have you turned me into? What I once was, I despise, what I’ve created will descend upon me as soon as the power inherent in it comes to the light. Or is there any way I can escape my own curse? Have I been wrong? Maybe my error doesn’t have the dreadful consequence I foresaw after all. Or maybe some ill-fated demon is waiting for the best moment to break forth, to send the creatures, united in their wrath, after me. They are separated now, but they are seeing each other. They are my nemesis. And I made them that._

Ϡ

_Got to sell a plot. Last lot outside Brill._

_Damn, should have taken more than one gold from the poisoner. But he’ll reap the rewards in the end. Everyone does. Just like Magor Gaunt._

_Agamand’s cast an eye on the lot. Directly next to his grounds. Not gonna cheat his old friend Magor. How much to ask?_

_Agamand gave me 100 gold and a better horse. Maybe all getting better now. Going to leave Brill for a while. ~~Maybe I can~~ Don’t get your hopes up, Magor._

Ϡ

_Worse than Brill here. Only trees. And creatures out of hell. Killed my horse. Thought I’m done, but they’re wrong. Now they think I got to be grateful. They’re wrong. Should’ve let me die. Better for me._

_Must go back. Cannot leave the house this long. Also got the long-ears on my heels._

_Nearly got caught today. Hiding so well I cannot find them. ~~Maybe I could~~ First, you can’t, second, they’re not forcing me to become what I was._

Ϡ

_I’m back and got a feeling something’s not right here. Something’s happening, and this time it isn’t my fault._

_Damn them all, I thought I could deny who I was, but if I want to know what is going on, I’ve got to talk to the apothecaries. In cases of doubt ~~we~~ they were always the first to know something._

_They know nothing. Or aren’t saying. ~~Like I couldn’t~~ Magor, you’ve got to forget who you were. Your past’s going to catch up soon enough as is._

Ϡ

_Who’s he thinking he is? Does he think his scribbling will make me talk? Does he think I’m that naïve? Like he wouldn’t send all the authorities after me and encourage Faranell to start a crusade against me? My friend you call yourself? You’re an animal._

Ϡ

Greetings, my friend Magor!

I heard you were out of town for a time, and I am certain that you noticed the problem we are facing at once when you returned. I do not wish to torture you, but I need your help -- Lordaeron needs your help!

We need every shrewd head if we want to stand a chance. Something is burdening you, made you retreat from us. The others may accept that, but I shall not ignore who you truly are.

The formula enclosed to this letter -- as if I need to tell you this -- will produce an elixir to give you the strength to talk to me. I tried it on myself, it works wonders. No matter what it is you need to venture doing, no matter how hard to give voice to your worries, it will come easily because your fear will be swept away. But be careful not to give up all caution!

I swear to you, I shall not betray you, no matter what you’ve done. We were friends once, and we are still colleagues, even if you are trying to deny it. You have not lost your talent. I beg you, dedicate it to our craft one last time, or we shall all perish!

I await your response,

Bohannon

Ϡ

_Damn, if I want to know what’s going on I need to join Ogden and his followers. Something bad is in the air, that much is certain. People are getting sick, dying, and vanish without a trace. And no one’s telling me what’s happening. Maybe Ogden will. I’ll write to him. Tell him I cannot promise anything so long as I don’t know the score._

_This is hilarious. Undead. As though it makes a difference to me. They’re twice accursed, Magor._

_Wrote to Ogden again. Must be ready to flee if he hands my letter to the authorities. If not I’ll return to the apothecaries. Keeping the draft letter just in case._

Ϡ

Very well. The whole truth, Bohannon: I made a mistake, the sort you cannot ever make. We all know experiments can fail. Many test new formulae on themselves, but I’ve never done that. I paid peasants in Brill for their help. As you know, I had financial difficulties. So I tried a potion on one of the creatures Aetheldra had just born. It was so small I assumed it would die after three days anyway. When I didn’t see any results I tried the potion on the elder as well. Again, with no result. It should have been strengthening, but Modgud remained weak. Merope had more strength to begin with and was at least a little useful, but the great improvement didn’t come. Only then I found the fatal error: I had used gloom weed and kingsblood in the same potion, a normally fatal cocktail. But there was peacebloom as well among other ingredients, and that altered the effect. A child receiving this potion will undergo a change once reaching adulthood. It will receive strength from the gloom weed, but because of the kingsblood it will not be physical strength. The child will be transformed into a mage. And one day my daughters’ power will be great enough to destroy Magor Gaunt. You can find all that in my diary, which I will leave in a safe place before I die.

Ϡ

_I hardly believe it. Ogden didn’t betray me. They really must be desperate. If this didn’t affect myself as well they could forget it. I am not yet ill, but it can only be a matter of time._

_Ogden is lost. Tried his potion on himself. Seems like it was a waste of time._

_Some people fleeing south, I’ll go with them. Agamand is ill, he’ll stay and keep my diary. Those that die here won’t do much reading. The younger of the sisters is ill, at least Ogden said so. Told me I shouldn’t run but help her. Funny bloke. Choose death for myself? No. And the elder is far enough away but always around her sister. Who knows, maybe she’ll get it, too. At least they’ll leave me alone._

_  
_


	5. Meddling

The bridges in Thunder Bluff always made her queasy. That was a bit stupid, since she could slow her fall should she manage to accidentally fall off, but still. When someone walked the other way and they had to pass each other by, it was worse. And when that other person was the bulky Troll from long before, it was pure horror. The Troll girl was with him, her eyes huge and scared. She recognised Modgud and shook her head slightly. It wasn’t necessary. Modgud was way too busy balancing to say anything, and she knew better than to provoke the Troll here of all places. But the fear of the female made her angry.

She visited the Pools of Visions and returned to Orgrimmar via portal. She wanted to try out her new fishing rod, and someone had told her once there actually were fish in the lake in the valley of honour.

She had barely managed to cast her fishing rod when the shadow of a Troll fell over her. She jumped and dropped the rod. ‘Sorry,’ the Troll said.

Modgud recognised him as Razza’jin. ‘No problem.’ She groped for her rod in the sand.

‘Razza remembers. Ya wanted a tattoo?’

Modgud blinked. ‘Yes! Yes, I want … I want a purple lotus on the back of the wrist with a drop of water breaking loose from one of the petals.’

Razza smiled. ‘Nice. How’s now?’

Modgud swallowed and nodded. ‘Sure, my fishing career isn’t going anywhere.’

Razza chuckled at her. ‘Razza gets his things.’

Modgud wondered if it wouldn’t be wiser to flee, but then the Troll was back and gestured to her to sit on the floor. ‘You’re sure this works? I mean … on me.’

Razza looked at her with an amused expression. ‘Works fine. Which hand?’ Modgud extended her left. Razza began to work and she refused to look. ‘Y’are Modgud. Chan told Razza.’

Modgud made a mental note never to tell a Troll something that was supposed to be confidential. Not that she had ever made a secret of her name. ‘Yeah … Look, Razza, can I ask you something?’

He glanced from her hand to her face. ‘Sure.’

‘I just wondered. Have you met that other Troll again? The one you danced with.’

Razza took a few moments to answer. ‘Shouky. No.’

‘I have. With that big one. She didn’t look happy.’

Razza sighed. ‘No. But the other … Orthorf … be very jealous. It be too dangerous to see her. For Shouky, that is.’

Modgud couldn’t stop herself. ‘Staying with him is dangerous. Who knows how he treats her when no-one’s looking.’ She had no idea how Trolls treated their females in general. For all she knew, it was common to drag them wherever you wanted them to be. But Razza didn’t look like he approved.

‘Not well. But Shouky doesn’t want to talk.’

‘She’s too scared?’ The Troll merely nodded. ‘Would you send her away if she weren’t?’

Razza smiled slyly. ‘Never.’

Modgud grinned. ‘Well she may be frightened. But not of me, perhaps.’

Again, Razza interrupted his work to glance up at her, with a measuring look on his face this time. ‘Ya be careful.’

Ϡ

She didn’t like the empty house in Booty Bay. The man who had owned it was dead, he had walked to his own murderer, knowing full well what would happen. It was an ill place.

But it was also a place unlikely to be visited by stragglers. It was where she was meeting Shouky.

The Troll was fidgety and scared. She was unhappy and uncertain about what Modgud would do. But at last, she decided to trust her. Told her Orthorf was brutal. Told her he was mad because he knew. Knew what she felt. Knew that the unborn baby within her might not be his. And Modgud sat there and didn’t believe herself when she told Shouky she had to break free, that she couldn’t let anyone command her or threaten the life of her kid. That Razza’jin would protect them. And Shouky listened.

Ϡ

The bridges in Thunder Bluff always made her queasy. When she met Orthorf on the bridge to the Pools of Visions for the second time, he was alone. The Troll shot her a look of pure venom. She thought maybe she imagined it, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Modgud made a very quick decision. She jumped.

_  
_


	6. Fear Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _((Chapter heading is pilfered from a_ Doctor Who _episode titled_ Fear Her _.))_

The priest Vykos was the most frightening creature Modgud knew. It made little to no difference whether he followed the light or the shadow. Each time he changed his mind about it, he seemed to lose a portion of his sanity. As a follower of the light he had tortured people of her guild in Undercity until the Matron had intervened. Now he followed the shadow, and more and more of the Death Dealers were falling prey to whatever power he had over them.

Modgud shuddered just to think of his bald face, of the glow of his eyes that held a degree of malice that was astounding even for a Forsaken. She felt safe in the community of mercenaries, and she wanted things to stay like that. And she knew he was threatening them.

On a piece of parchment she scribbled the names of his victims, those that had already succumbed. Only one of them was a Forsaken. Until he had fallen, she had considered herself safe. Her kind was resilient of mind, but apparently not against this kind of assault. She needed … a shaman. A shaman would be good.

Ϡ

Modgud had made the experience that no-one wanted a Forsaken before, but she had never really cared. Now she needed help, desperately. The guild’s Matron was a shaman called Cassyndra. She turned to her first. The Tauren listened. She said she’d look into it, and Modgud was pleasantly surprised that Cassyndra took her seriously. She promised to investigate closely, to have Vykos interrogated.

It was only three days later she heard the voice in her head. ‘You will all fall before the shadow.’ The booming sound nearly made her stomach turn. It didn’t even sound very much like Vykos anymore. ‘Cassyndra is mine. And you will be, too.’

It was no good. She had to run. She had been sent to the Alterac Mountains before. Her mage trainer had told her to go there to practice. It was quiet here, and if you wanted to school your mind for telepathy, that was perfect. She had spent her time in a secluded cave, then. Now she went to find the cave again, hoping no one could find her.

She hid for three weeks. She asked an elven rogue for information. The woman refused to get mixed up in the affair but promised to send her falcon with letters. When the falcon came, it had no letter. It merely tugged and pulled on Modgud’s clothes. ‘What is it?’ The falcon gave a shrill call and flew a few feet away before returning and circling around her. ‘Right, I get it, you want me to follow. Why can’t you just talk?’ It gave another shriek and flew further away.

Modgud hurried after it. When her foot caught on something, she thought it was a twine of some sort. She ran on without looking, making as much haste as she dared on the treacherous mountain track. She nearly tripped and looked down towards her feet. Cold rushed down her spine as she saw the tendril of shadow trying to get a hold on her. The falcon screeched above her, high and frightened, before it shot up into the air and out of sight. Modgud stood frozen with dread. The shadows wrapped around her, growing, feeding of her strength. She fell, but was caught by the tendrils. She was so tired.

Ϡ

Modgud woke up to a dripping sound. The smell was so distinctive that she knew at once where she was: the small side chamber of the Apothecarium. She tried to get to her feet, but found herself chained. ‘Faranell …’ her voice was hoarse and weak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Faranell! Help me!’

‘He can’t hear you.’ Vykos came from the shadows right before her. Modgud pressed against the wall, her eyes wide. He hadn’t been there before. She could _swear_ he hadn’t been there before! ‘You cannot escape.’ He approached slowly, a malicious smile on his face.

‘What have you done to Faranell?’

Vykos tutted. ‘Done? Nothing. Do you believe he never leaves the main hall? Don’t be ridiculous.’ He crouched beside her and ran a hand over her face, almost gently. She wanted to vomit. ‘Now don’t go anywhere, little mage. I shall be back soon with a nice little drink for you.’ Modgud watched him go. She realised that she was still able to cope with stress. She was trapped with no way out, and what hadn’t worked before worked now: She remained calm, able to think and react.

Modgud leaned back against the rock. She could fight when Vykos returned, but she couldn’t cast tied up like she was. And firmly shutting her mouth helped only for so long.

Whatever Vykos wanted to give her, it would influence her mind, so that was what she had to protect. She shut her eyes and listened deeply into herself. Listened to the dreams, hopes, and wishes she had brought into this existence from her past life. She knew that Forsaken – some, at least – still had a soul. That this soul and the willpower that came with it were sometimes even stronger than that of any other people. That was what she would nurture in the time she still had.

Ϡ

When Vykos returned, she did indeed try to keep her mouth shut. That resulted in a painful attack on her mind. She refused to scream, but in the end she lost her battle. A disgusting fluid that tasted suspiciously like foul blood was forced down her throat. She fell asleep. The next time she awoke, she saw Vykos again. Her master, the one she would serve from this day forth until her last.


	7. Bleating Defiance

Her eyes fell shut, but she forced them open with an effort bordering on violence. Sleep deprivation should come easily for a Forsaken, but it didn’t. Two weeks. Two full weeks with no sleep, no rest. Her hands were shaking, she didn’t dare to cast because she couldn’t focus, she drank jagweed tea to keep her mind busy, and she was starting to think this last one had been a very, very bad idea.

But it helped. Vykos’s voice was still there, commanding and beautiful and benevolent …

But there were also these sheep. Funny. She had been in Thousand Needles, but now she was on a beautiful lawn, full of strange sheep. She approached cautiously. One was completely bald, one had a shock of green hair on its head and tusks, and two maimed, ugly ones were standing close together. Some seemed normal at first sight, but their features all looked familiar and she felt drawn to them as if they weren’t animals but friends.

She ventured closer to one of the sheep, and it bleated at her. She jumped. There were words in there, phrases, sentences. ‘Ya be careful, mon,’ the one with the tusks bleated. Modgud’s mind was garbled, but she managed to wonder if she was sleeping or hallucinating. She feared it might be the latter. She retreated, distraught, only to collide with a maimed ram.

‘I’m sure she doesn’t like me.’ She had forgotten it, the ridiculous creature, built in the Apothecarium, that had decided to fall in love with another Forsaken mage. Then there was a ewe, similarly maimed.

‘Butcher, a knife,’ it bleated with the voice of the other one, who had shied from the creature’s advances.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Modgud yelled. If she’d still got a heartbeat, it would be racing now, she was certain.

‘Now don’t go anywhere, little mage,’ the bald sheep told her, and she shuddered at the thought that her Master was here. But there was also that deep feeling of safety filling her soul, because even in her dream he was watching over her.

Panic gripped Modgud’s shaken mind, she spun around, ready to bolt. A part of her that wasn’t completely warped cautioned her. She was on top of a mesa, after all, and if this was a hallucination rather than a dream, running wouldn’t end well. But that wasn’t what halted her. It was a lamb. It lay in the grass, looking weak and sick. A wave of pity washed over her and she knelt beside it.

‘What’s wrong with you? Are you ill?’

The answer was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. ‘Save me.’

Modgud leaned closer, whispering back. ‘Yes, I will save you! What do I have to do?’

‘Forget that I was here.’

Modgud slipped back into reality slowly and painfully. The scientist in her registered that she had never completely believed what she saw, that a part of her mind was always aware she was drugged. She assumed that was something that came with being a Forsaken. She could only remember her vision very vaguely, but she felt better than before. Suddenly frantic, Modgud began writing names on a parchment. Again. This time, she would keep it as her small effort of defiance for the next few days. _Cassyndra … Modgud … Berúthiel … Lestat … Nioma_. She looked at the list of victims and added one more. Because whatever was going on, it was as little his choice as the others’. That he was a sheep in her vision showed that clearly. _Vykos_.

She closed her eyes, looking into herself, taking inventory of her mind. She felt as if she weren’t alone. But there wasn’t only the master shadowing her consciousness. There was something else, too, something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Ϡ

With her eyes closed, Modgud sat in Lordaeron before the broken statue. Here, so she hoped, she would find the voice she had heard again. She had half believed her vision of the sheep would come back in her dreams, but since then she had slept without dreaming at all.

She stared at a crack in the stone, at the moss growing in it. She was losing her mind, it seemed. Last night she had been at the tavern in Booty Bay. Not the normal tavern led by goblins, but the Mah’Jippa. She had stood on the threshold and looked inside, and it had struck her. A vision like the one before, but this time she hadn’t taken anything. There had been a monster, reminding her of a terrible moment in the Sunken Temple. And the other … it looked vague, almost like a ghost. Both were deep in conversation, so deep they hadn’t noticed Modgud.

_‘You’re growing weaker,’ the monster said._

_The spirit snickered. ‘You think so?’_

_‘I am poisoning you.’ The monster’s voice was gravelly and very deep. ‘You cannot exist next to me.’_

_The spirit smiled. ‘Next to you? No. You think you have won. A battle. Not the war.’_

_‘There’s time enough for me. I grow while you perish. With every victory of mine.’_

_The spirit still sounded serene. ‘With every victory of yours, I learn. I steal your weapons, use them against you. Do exactly what you do to me. I will beat you with them in the end. You cannot let her see what I show. Well, I can do the same to you.’_

_‘You do not have that power.’_

_‘You do not have the brains.’_

_‘Then I will have to destroy you.’_

_The spirit laughed. ‘You can’t, as you very well know. I am the pillar on which this house is built. If I am gone, you have to go, too, for the house will collapse. That’s the difference between us: I need nothing but myself to be here. You need a roof. And that roof … rests on me.’_

She had come to then, and the monster and the spirit were gone. A few people were already in the tavern, including Razza. But he hadn’t seen her, standing with the back to the door, and she had run away. Now she knew what they had been. They were the two things battling in her mind. The one must be the master, the other … another influence, she had thought at first. But now she knew it wasn’t. It was herself.


	8. Away From Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This chapter heading is the title of a song by Evanescence.))_

Modgud looked around her hastily, not for the first time. Razza’jin, however, showed open confusion. Small wonder. Modgud’s words were more than disconcerting. There were the parchment with the names that for the most part meant nothing to him and her cryptic warnings. Her obvious fear had to rub off on her dialogue partner. Struggling for every word, Modgud had tried to make him understand what was going on. She’d had time to prepare. There were things she couldn’t say because Vykos’s magic was blocking her. But Modgud had battled his influence in the past weeks. For a few painful moments she could talk if she chose her words carefully. And that she did.

The words spilled from her like a waterfall, not always entirely clear, but the overall direction was obvious. ‘Vykos … I think … was the first victim. He needs help just like the rest of us. Modgud leaned against the wall, and Razza listened, patiently, his expression very hard to read. ‘We have … we drank blood. Blood of a demon.’

Razza’s eyes widened. ‘What? Why d’ya do that?’

Modgud swallowed. ‘I had … no choice. He … he made me.’

Razza took a step towards her, and his voice became more intense while with every words speaking became more difficult for Modgud. ‘Who? Modgud … Who?

‘Vy--’ She fell silent, the automatic punishment from the influence immediate and painful. ‘The master of shadows Razza.’ Razza’jin studied the list for a while, his face a mixture of bewilderment and insight at once. Her control was slipping. ‘Razza … I don’t think … I can … for long.’ Her voice grew softer. ‘I have … I gathered the strength to speak to you. Don’t trust any of these people. Not even me.’ Razza closed his eyes for a moment and made a gesture with his hands. Some of her strength came back. ‘The Death Dealers are in his hands, probably more than I know, but I am sure there are some that can withstand. And he doesn’t know you, can’t target you. Protect them. I’m lost already. I’ll be an obedient servant to my master.’ There was venom in her voice, but then Razza’s spell lifted, and Vykos filled her mind again.

‘Do ya think,’ the Troll began, ‘Razza can believe this?’ His voice was cool and brought her back to the here and now. ‘Vykos, a senile dead man, have done that? Ya just wanna make yaself sound good. And Nioma is only a calf? Nah. Ya oughtta’ve thought of something betta than that.’

Modgud felt as though the ground was falling away beneath her feet. Her last hope was crumbling. Razza didn’t believe her. As far as she knew he didn’t even know Vykos, but he talked as though he did. ‘Make myself sound better?’ she echoed. ‘What did I do?’

‘Razza don’t know. But Vykos don’t have the spirit to do that. You got the spirit, and you got the malice, it seems.’ Razza looked at her as though waiting for a reaction. When none came he took a deep breath and took a step forwards. ‘Tell Vykos that from me.’ He made another gesture, his palms stretched towards her. It wasn’t as painful an attack Vykos’s had been, but still it hurt. The anger within her welled and boiled over. She lost the last shreds of control and saw the anger leave Razza’s face to be replaced with profound sadness, but that only made it worse.

‘How dare you? You will feel the wrath of the Master!’ Her voice was shrill and loud, and she lunged at the Troll to inflict as much pain on him as was at all possible. ‘He will crush you!’ she shrieked. Or at least she wanted to. Something caught her in mid-jump. She was trapped and silenced. Razza shook his head.

‘Sorry, Modgud. Razza’ll release ya, but right now, ya’re not a Forsaken. Ya’re an Undead under the control of a demon. Razza’ll keep ya safe. From yerself, mostly. Ya’ll understand, one day.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Now what can I do with ya? Can’t keep ya here.’

Ϡ

Modgud blinked a few times in quick succession. It took a while before she knew where she was. ‘Are you completely out of your mind?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve always known you’re not normal, but I didn’t realise your lunacy went quite as far!’

The portal trainer glanced at her with her usual baleful expression. ‘I’m not supposed to let you out.’

Modgud started laughing loudly. ‘You know what? Stop me! I’m a mage, not some rabid dog you can tether to a mushroom.’ She shook her head. Something had changed … Slowly, normal thought started to trickle through the noise. She vaguely remembered that she had spoken to Razza’jin … had almost attacked him … and now … all was different. Had Razza taken Vykos’s influence from her? She doubted he had that power.

Under the eyes of the protesting Forsaken, she had opened a portal to a few feet further, freeing herself of the chain. She was hardly out of the cave when Razza came running down the path from the Spirit Rise. He stopped less than a foot away from her, reached over, and held her by the arms. His grip was firm but not painful. ‘Modgud?’ His stare was boring into her eyes, but she was oblivious to his concern.

‘That woman, the portal person, had me trapped! Can you believe her nerve?’

Razza cocked his head. ‘Razza had to shackle ya.’

It took a few moments before this sunk in. ‘What … Why?’

‘Razza needs to be sure ya’re not under the demon’s spell any more. That all right?’ Whatever defence she’d had in mind, it crumbled. It all returned to her … Her desperate fight for freedom, peaking in her flight to Razza’jin. She nodded. ‘Good. Ya come on up with Razza, we’ll get yer head right again. Don’t ya worry, mon. Ya’ll be all right.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This has never happened in the game, at least not like this. Modgud was under a CC spell, but rather polymorphed than shackled. It worked the same way, though: She was provoked into attacking and then cc-ed. The mage that did it was also a Forsaken and had her put into one of Keever's cages.  
>  I changed that for two reasons: The smaller one is that the mage has been mentioned here, but not as an existing Forsaken. The real reason, however, is, that I cannot / will not post the real context in which Modgud desperately ran to Razza’jin for aid. She did that, and he helped at once and happily, but not with this (although he would have).  
> That, however, required me to change the conversation. The mage that helped me was from the start angry and wild in her reaction. Wild, however, is a trait Razza doesn’t possess at all (as far as I know him), so I had to change the tone of the conversation on his part. I do however consider the character capable to commit a small act of violence as a last resort for the greater good ;) ))_


	9. A Not-So-Willing Servant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This both happened: Modgud and Vala at Light’s Hope Chapel during the even before TBC, and Modgud fighting Araj alone only a little bit later (with level 61, no Classic end content because I turned 58 when TBC was already out). Dago is a warlock, by the way, seeing how he lost his original mage-magic. He was the first person to be on the receiving end of an act of absolute altruism from Modgud.))_

She stared at the thing in front of her, heard the shrieks of the otherwise brave men and women of the Argent Dawn. It was small wonder. Some fled into the Chapel, but that wouldn’t save them. The building didn’t even reach to the monster’s midriff. Vala, the Tauren warrior beside her, gaped at the huge demon, then shook herself. ‘Do you believe,’ she asked in a carrying whisper, ‘that this thing can be defeated?’

Modgud met her gaze. Vala had asked her for help looking for blood of heroes, which was tedious work, and Modgud had agreed. Now they faced … this. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘No way.’

Vala nodded. ‘Me neither. Shall we leg it?’ They both watched a human mage cast a spell at the demon. The magic was so strong she could almost physically feel it, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, it could actually harm the monstrosity. But then the demon spotted the mage. The spell hurtled towards it, hit it squarely in the face – and was reflected. The human stared at what was coming back to him, a burning shadow. He screamed when it hit him and started running. He had to be dead already, but somehow his legs carried him on and on, and down the hill. Only then he fell silent. ‘Modgud?’

The Forsaken swallowed. ‘Yes. Let’s leave.’

Ϡ

It all eluded her. Why there should be a beetle of any sort in the phylactery of a Lich, why you needed a beetle of any sort to build a key, and why in the name of whatever deity there was (not that she believed _that_ ) an Apothecary had to do such a thing herself rather than tell a smith or maybe an engineer to craft a facsimile. Modgud wasn’t even certain what a phylactery was to begin with, only that she had to defeat the Lich in order to get access to it. But she didn’t question any of it. Much rather, she made her way to what remained of Andorhal. Alone. She had been told not to, but how bad could it be, really?

‘Are you Araj?’ The Lich hissed at her. There was something at his … well, feet was the wrong word. Beneath him. An Undead it was obviously, but it was a very odd one. It got to its knees, then to its feet, swayed, and collapsed again. She decided to ignore it, since it didn’t seem to be overly much of a threat, and addressed Araj, whose attention was apparently on the stumbling corpse rather than her. She took that as a personal insult. ‘Oi! Fight me, if you can!’ She felt the power of the creature before her. She dreaded what would happen if she lost. Well, Modgud wasn’t prepared to find out. She took a deep breath and attacked.

It was the hardest fight she’d ever had. She kept running away, casting every few paces, keeping the monster chasing her frozen whenever she could. Every time he managed to hit her in turn, she thought the next spell must kill her. She kept herself shielded as well as she could, and when she cast what she knew was her last spell before her strength was gone, she thought it was all over.

And indeed it was. Somehow, miraculously, Araj shrieked and the form crumbled. All that remained was a withered robe and what had to be the phylactery.

Modgud was halfway out of Andorhal when she remembered the strange Undead. She decided to deliver it from its pain. When she got there, the Undead looked up at her with animal fear. She raised her staff to strike it down, but it raised its arms. ‘Please … no!’

She remained poised. ‘What?’

‘I fought … that … that thing. The Lich. In my head.’ Modgud lowered her staff at last. ‘I just woke up here, and there it was.’

Modgud swallowed. She had to break it to him, and there was no easy way to do it. ‘Woke up? Raised from the dead by that Lich, you mean.’ The Undead looked at her, and it struck her that those eyes didn’t see anything. They couldn’t. They were burnt out of his skull. How could she have missed it first? But he looked, actually _looked_ , at his hand now, ran the tips of his fingers over his arm. She felt with him. He only just realised that the skin wasn’t quite as firm as it had been before. ‘I know how you feel. You don’t want to believe it at first.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, but in the silence of death it carried far enough. With an effort the Undead looked back up at her. He had to be a mage, there was no other way he could possibly see. ‘Did Araj do that to you?’ He shook his head. ‘You got a name?’

‘Dago.’ He swallowed. ‘The eyes … that happened a very long time ago.’

‘You’re a mage.’ A nod. ‘Come with me. This is no place for you. I am Modgud, by the way.’

‘Wait.’ Dago stood rooted to the spot. ‘I was a human. What … How can I go with you?’

Modgud smiled sadly. ‘Because your former allies will murder you on sight.’

Still, he didn’t move. ‘I recognise your voice. You were at Light’s Hope Chapel when Kruul attacked.’

It took a few moments before she answered. Then it struck her. ‘Oh no … you were the madman that attacked with that huge spell. Oh, but you’re powerful.’

He shook his head. ‘No … I was. I’ve only got a few reserves. I feel the magic bleeding out of me. I cannot even … You have to guide me, if you truly wish to help me.’

And now she noticed that he still looked in her direction, but not nearly as accurately as before. ‘Take my hand.’ She reached out and took his hand into hers. ‘I’ll lead you well. Trust me.’

 


	10. The Shadows and the Critics

The Cult of Shadows was something Modgud had heard about before. She had also heard the names of some of its members. But she had never really known anything about them, other than that they were very radical, and that their means were occasionally unorthodox. Oh, what an understatement.

The sudden release from Vykos’s chain rooted in the Cult of Shadows, she knew now. They had tried to use Vykos to summon a demon. Vykos, however, was too slow for their taste, so they had chosen someone else, and when he was released, so were all his victims. Razza’s spell was no longer needed and had lifted.

Modgud glanced at the nine pieces of parchment before her and sighed. She had vowed to herself never to meddle in things that didn’t concern her again and rather let them unfold, and now here she was.

The day before, Yaelra, a Sin’dorei of the Death Dealers, had given her the letters of that mysterious Grollas person. Modgud had been very certain she wouldn’t even know what to do about her problem, but now she saw the path clearly. Yaelra had told her this Grollas was in great danger and should be dead already. Modgud didn’t point out that technically, he was, seeing how he was a Forsaken. He had spilled information concerning the Cult, and apparently they knew that. It was even possible that they knew Yaelra was the one who had received them, but Modgud found that unlikely. What they couldn’t know, was that she had this information as well now. A perfect position from which to start digging deeper.

Even before her talk with Yaelra, she had approached two Forsaken she knew were fighting the Cult. The one she’d known longer, Agnes, wasn’t mentioned in Grollas’s letters, but a few other people were, and to Modgud’s confusion and dismay, so was her other contact Thyndras – indirectly.

Modgud dug a fresh piece of parchment from her bag and skimmed through the letters, making a list of Grollas’s suspects.

_Brother of Razurius_

_Armas_

_Nerevar_

_Fold_

_Dr. Paul Krank / Brasca_

_Nerozud_

_Jarad_

_Emily Winters_

_Lordaeron’s Fourteenth_

The only names she knew were Fold and Nerozud. But like the rest of them, they could be anyone. The Cult of Shadows used false names a lot, making it hard to find out who was who. But Lordaeron’s Fourteenth …

Both Agnes and Thyndras had told her they belonged to a group opposing the Cult of Shadows. Thyndras did more than that: He led it. The Royal Blue Guard, Lordaeron’s Fourteenth Infantry Battalion. Agnes, on the other hand, belonged to the Battalion Black Phoenix.

Her conversation with Thyndras passed through her head time and again. She had warned a warrior in training, had told him to be careful whom he trusted. She had continued that there was an organisation both secret and menacing. The blunt dread must have been written in her face, and even Thyndras had muttered its name rather than spoken out loud: ‘The Cult of Shadows.’

It was horribly confusing. Agnes belonged to the Black Phoenix and said they worked against the Cult. Thyndras belonged to Lordaeron’s Fourteenth and claimed the Black Phoenix appeared wherever the Cult had their greatest success. The only thing that was clear was that one of the two very likely did work against the Cult of Shadows. Maybe it was time to cross-check what Agnes had to say about the Fourteenth.

Shaking her head, Modgud started writing the letter she knew she had to:

Ϡ

_Dear Agnes,_

_You said the other night that if I had any sort of information about the organisation we talked about, I should contact you. I need to speak to you soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Modgud Gaunt_

Ϡ

She would ask her question and be done. She took the one parchment that wasn’t from Grollas. It said that the Cult planned to revive Malakaine van Tassel and had to be stopped from doing so. Modgud had known Malakaine, and liked him. He couldn’t belong to those monsters, could he? She refused to believe that bit. The letter was in a vaguely familiar hand, a scrawl that was hard to decipher. The dry parchment burnt quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Vykos was never used by the Cult of Shadows, as far as I know. However, that is the most feasible way to put this into a text, and I think I remember the p.o. Vykos telling me, he had considered joining the Cult with Vykos. The real answer was much less interesting, believe me.))


	11. Dangerous Game

She sat in the Gallows’ End Tavern, waiting. She was scared, more than she wanted to admit to herself. Agnes entered with a man behind her. He seemed sinister, but that was nothing unusual in a Forsaken, so no reason to worry. Agnes smiled, and Modgud found it certainly looked honest and open. ‘Modgud, good to see you.’

Returning the smile, Modgud offered her hand to the other, slightly taller woman, and a nod at her bodyguard. ‘Likewise.’

Agnes lowered her voice. ‘We should go somewhere less public. You never know who’s listening.’

Modgud nodded and followed them outside. Agnes walked towards the lake at a leisurely pace, her guard always half a step behind her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t uttered a single word so far, and Modgud had a feeling he wasn’t going to break his silence any time soon.

‘You shouldn’t travel alone so much,’ Agnes told her. ‘Your investigations into the Cult of Shadows are dangerous. Imagine finding yourself alone with the wrong people.’

Bolting suddenly seemed like a good idea. But if Modgud wanted answers, she had to stay. She realised that Agnes was right, however. Meeting strangers wasn’t wise if you were on your own, especially if you made it clear that you wanted to oppose a very powerful and often violent organisation.

‘Well, I am due in the Undercity in half an hour. I’m meeting another contact there. The problem is, as you can imagine, I don’t think he would be willing to talk if I had company.’ It wasn’t even a bluff. She was meeting Grollas later. Another perfect stranger. Wonderful.

Agnes seemed to decide they had gone far enough. She leaned with her back against a tree and looked at Modgud. ‘What did you want to ask me?’

Modgud dug in her bag for the letter about Malakaine before she remembered that she had burnt it. She smiled apologetically. ‘I received a letter, but I lost it, it seems. It warned me that the Cult of Shadows wanted to revive someone. A Warlock known as Malakaine van Tassel.’

Agnes frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of him. Who is he?’

‘He was … well, I met him twice. Someone had hired a man to murder him, Malakaine knew that and walked to his killer with his head held high. The murderer sent me a letter to stop meddling when I tried to intervene. I think this one was the same hand.’

‘Was that warlock a Cultist?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘To be honest, he died long before I even heard of the Cult of Shadows. I prefer to believe he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with them.’

‘Just to make sure I understand. A man writes to you to quit trying to save his victim to be, and now, after he managed to kill that … Malakaine, the same murderer writes that the Cult of Shadows tries to revive the victim?’ Modgud nodded. ‘It certainly sounds very odd. How well did you know either of them?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘Again, I _think_ Malakaine was a decent person? You cannot look into people. I met the murderer, too. Lycian he called himself, and he seemed foul. But that, too, is just the surface. But it’s absurd to ask me of all people to stop someone from reviving Malakaine. Unless he lost his mind, being twice dead.’

Agnes nodded. ‘It’s not unheard of, you know, that the Cult of Shadows would attempt such a thing, if they expect to gain an ally. And a powerful Warlock would be quite to their liking. I’ll keep my ears open. If I learn something, I will, of course, inform you.’ She smiled. ‘Was there anything else?’

Modgud hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, there is. I ran into someone the other day, a certain Thyndras and his Fourteenth Infantry Battalion. You wouldn’t have heard of them, by any chance?’

Agnes nodded eagerly. ‘Of course I know of them. They are absolutely reliable. If ever you need help or believe yourself in danger, approach any of them. They fight the same fight we do.’

Modgud smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Agnes. That is very reassuring.’

The other woman shook her head. ‘No, Modgud. It is I who has to thank you. I would like to give you something in return for your trust and your help. We have found out a Cultist recently. His name is Nuruhangbor. As soon as I know more, I will contact you again.’

Modgud watched them go, wondering how much good this conversation had done her. A few paces away, Agnes stopped and looked back at her. ‘Modgud … walk with us to the Undercity. It is safer.’

Hurriedly, she followed. For the moment, that seemed to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((_ Dangerous Game _is a confusing novel by L.G. Alexander, and the chapter heading has nothing whatsoever to do with the book. But it fits here and I don’t have time to dream up something more sophisticated right now.))_


	12. The Unquiet Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _((I’ve spent more than an entire day in this instance to come up with a witty chapter heading that won’t give away Grollas’s intention but still serves to describe him. I couldn’t find one. So I chose another_ Doctor Who _reference. *shrug*))_

After Agnes and her bodyguard had taken their leave in the Undercity’s trade district, Modgud had strolled down past the bank and to the mage quarter where she would meet Yaelra’s Grollas. She had no idea what he looked like, or if he could actually be trusted. For all she knew, he might be a spy. Yaelra was quite taken with him (not to say besotted), though, and Modgud wasn’t going to deny her the favour to speak to him.

‘You have information that belongs to me.’

Modgud jumped at the gravelly voice that came from the corner to her right. He was at least one head taller than she, clad in a red robe. It couldn’t be anyone else, but she wasn’t going to do him the favour to be cowed. ‘And you are …’ She folded her arms and looked at him with a bored expression.

‘Grollas Veilgrave, as you well know. With me. Now.’

Modgud stared at him. ‘Well, if you ask me so nicely.’

Grollas headed towards the bridge to the outer ring of the mage quarter. ‘I have no reason to ask.’

Modgud rolled her eyes. What on earth was that bloke trying to compensate for? ‘Me, however, I’m being terrifically nice, I think.’ Grollas’s arrogance annoyed and disappointed her, even if she understood he had to be as sceptical as her.

He stopped a few paces further into the city, and while she still wondered how here was better than where they’d been before he started talking. ‘You know Yaelra?’

Modgud offered a curt nod. ‘Being in the same guild, obviously.’

Grollas growled. ‘Now don’t get smart on me. How long have you known her?’

Modgud blew out her cheeks. ‘Hell, do you think I keep a charter when I met whom? Two years, probably more.’

‘And you get along?’

Modgud huffed. ‘I like her fine, and it should seem she likes me too, seeing how she trusted me with the information we’re talking about.’ Grollas nodded. She felt something reaching for her mind and jumped. With more violence than was necessary for the very careful attempt, she shut out the fingers feeling for her thoughts. ‘What do you think you’re doing, jerk?’ she asked fiercely.

His expression grew darker. ‘With me. Now.’ This time he ran, and Modgud hurried to keep up. It dawned on her that it wasn’t he who had tried to read her mind. ‘How long have you been with the Death Dealers?’ he continued his questioning.

‘Six years.’

‘Good. How many Forsaken do you have, and how many could be spies?’

A tough question. ‘I haven’t counted, quite many. There is one I would bet my right hand wants nothing to do with the Cultists’ crap, but the others … I cannot look into their minds.’ Again, she felt the mental feelers. ‘Grollas, it’s happening again. Someone’s trying to read me.’ She was trying hard not to sound hysterical. ‘Maybe we should move. Further.’

‘Silvermoon.’ Modgud wanted to beat him into next week for saying where the portal he opened led. She entered it with apprehension, half hoping he had tried to distract them by naming one city and going to another. He hadn’t, though.

‘Brilliant. Really brilliant. Let’s hope they’re not a mage themselves. That’ll give us two full minutes before they reach the Orb of Translocation. If we’re lucky.’

Grollas ignored her, leading the way outside. So far it eluded Modgud how Yaelra could think of that person so highly. He was neither friendly nor particularly bright, it seemed. Once outside, he spun around, grabbed her arm and dragged her sideways into an alley.

‘Do you have copies of my letters?’

‘No.’

He sighed deeply. ‘Good. If you have them and are lying, destroy them. Do the same with the copies Yaelra gave you if you haven’t already done so. When was your last encounter with a Cultist?’

It was the final straw. Modgud tore herself away from his grasp. ‘How should I know that, genius? It’s not like they’re wearing plates pointing them out!’

‘You’re obviously still young.’

Modgud hissed. ‘Well, at least I know how to avoid being seen! Next time you want to lose someone, open that portal to Thunder Bluff, jump down, and ride off into the wild, for crying out loud. Much more difficult to follow.’

To her surprise, he grinned. ‘Well, you’re not completely brainless. I will contact you again.’ He stepped out of the alley and looked back at her. ‘I didn’t act the way I did because I am dumb, Modgud. Trust Yaelra, if you don’t trust me.’


	13. An Elf’s Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _((A nod to chapter 19 of_ Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _, which is named_ Elf Tails _.))_

Modgud was trying desperately not to let the shouting match between Irabonae, who had usurped the Death Dealers not too long ago, and Grollas get to her. She exchanged a glance with Yaelra, who looked as if she wanted to sink into the ground. ‘Ira … please hear me.’ Modgud cleared her throat. ‘I do not … I know he’s rude, but the Cult threatens every living being, including you and Yaelra. I know I will fight them.’

Ira stared at her. ‘What if I command you to back off before you risk your neck?’

Modgud looked up at the Sin’dorei and merely shook her head. Irabonae threw her arms up in the air and turned her back on her. ‘Please, I beg you Ira, at least think about it.’

The blood elf balled her fists. ‘Right. Right! Between you and Yaelra, what can I do?’ She left in a hurry, and Yaelra allowed herself to sigh deeply.

‘Say something encouraging.’

Modgud tried and failed to think of anything helpful. ‘Teach him some manners, Yaelra. If it weren’t for you, I would have left the moment he opened his mouth to speak.’

Again, the Sin’dorei sighed. ‘Yes. I know. Look, I’ve got to … I didn’t tell any of you, but someone was following me here.’

Modgud smiled vaguely. ‘Is that why you were so flustered?’

Yaelra nodded.

‘Nerozud.’ Grollas was still standing there like a sinister statue, immobile but talking – or yelling. ‘I believe it was Nerozud that followed you. And now I’m sending you away, Yaelra. Modgud, if you would stay for another moment. I would like to speak to you.’ Yaelra stared at him. ‘You’ve got to get yourself to safety. Someone is apparently after you. I’ll come and see you later. I promise. Please. You know where I will find you.’

Modgud made a mental note that apparently Grollas wasn’t always rude. Well, it was something. Yaelra left through his portal unhappily, but she did. When she was gone, Grollas looked at Modgud, who was still scolding herself quietly for allowing fear to bubble in her heart at the mere mention of Nerozud’s name. But she couldn’t help herself. ‘Grollas, that man … is he still out there?’

Grollas closed his eyes for a few moments before he nodded. ‘I think so.’

Modgud swallowed. ‘He’s going to attack us as soon as we set a foot outside.’ Grollas nodded again. ‘Well?’

The other mage offered a wry grin. ‘Your way, this time.’ She understood. Modgud’s hands formed an orb she brought slowly to her chest. ‘Hold. Take me with you!’

She interrupted her spell. ‘Sorry! Oh, you must think I’m a complete failure.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t. Don’t fret. Come one.’ She looked at him, at the face she had thought she would forever despise. But not today. Modgud took a deep breath and started again. This time, her palms touched and her thumbs rested against her breastbone. A light blue glow started to burn around them, and she brought her hands forward and apart. Tendrils of blue were woven between them. A landscape shimmered through them. ‘Now let’s see how good you are. Hide where it leads. Make it last only a short time. Try and make it passable for us alone, but only if you’re certain I can still go through it if you do.’

She nodded and closed her eyes. ‘I have to touch your mind.’

‘I know. Go ahead.’

It was only a slight brush she needed to know the pattern of his thoughts. She refused to go any deeper than that, although it would have been an excellent opportunity to try and see what he really wanted. She closed her hands to fists, and the portal stood. It showed the sky, so by the looks of it, it could lead almost anywhere. ‘Quick,’ said Modgud and stepped through it.

Grollas followed at once. ‘Good. Very good. Now lead the way.’ Modgud stormed out from the Pools of Visions, ran to the northern edge of the central rock of Thunder Bluff, and jumped without hesitation. She cast the spell to break her fall at the last moment. Without waiting if Grollas was following she bolted towards the forest. Only when she was far enough inside to be certain she couldn’t be spotted, she stopped. Grollas skidded to a halt beside her. ‘I take it you’ve done that before.’

She grinned. ‘This way, no, but I considered it once and made a mental note to do it if ever I had to escape fast.’

He huffed. ‘Now don’t tell me you find this exciting.’

Modgud shrugged. ‘In a way. It’s the first time I seem to do something that has a point.’

‘Modgud, you have met your Agnes?’

Modgud nodded. ‘I have, her and a kind of bodyguard she had with her.’

‘You were very lucky. Very lucky indeed. Apparently she doesn’t deem you a threat, thinks you trust her. Do you?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘No more than any other Forsaken I know only in passing.’

‘Wise. Try and don’t meet her again, but if you have to, do it in a public place. Agnes is Emily Winters. One of the leaders of the Cult of Shadows, in case that doesn’t ring a bell.’

Modgud felt the forest spinning around her. She had suspected Agnes to have some connection to the Cult, but that would never have occurred to her. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, I cannot ignore her. She thinks I’m no threat? Good. Then I can keep on to her. Well, if you’re certain about her, I have something, too. I’ve been trying to look behind the Fourteenth. And now I really believe they work against the Cult.’

Grollas raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’

‘Because Agnes is a Cultist, and Thyndras hinted as much. Agnes however said the Fourteenth is legit.’

Slowly Grollas nodded. ‘I see. Well, that is good to know. Modgud, I’ve got to find Yaelra. I ask you to go back to the Undercity now, to the mages. I’ll send her there. Wait for her. If she doesn’t arrive within an hour, come back to Thunder Bluff to meet me and look for her.’ He started to walk away, then stopped and looked back. ‘And if you do not meet me either, we’re both dead and you’re on your own. Be careful. And Modgud?’ She cocked her head and he smiled at her. ‘Thanks for not trying to read me when you had the chance. For the trust. We’ll meet again soon.’

_  
_


	14. Getting Personal

It had been the most horrible hour she could remember. Waiting for Yaelra, dreading that no-one would come, no-one would be there in Thunder Bluff. She wasn’t patient to begin with, but this …

Modgud told herself it should be nothing to her, that the fate of the living didn’t concern her, that for her well-being it made no difference at all if the Sin’dorei lived or died. But if she thought about it like that, she might as well shed the tabard of the Death Dealers and join the Cult of Shadows. They had always been close within the guild, even Cassyndra and Ira were friends after the latter had told the former quite firmly she was taking the leadership into her own hands. One of the Forsaken was sitting small children when their parents were in battle, and they absolutely loved him. They all shared a bond that was unusual, and Modgud was no different.

After ten minutes she got antsy. After thirty, scared. After three quarters of an hour she was on the verge of teleporting to Thunder Bluff, just in case. In that moment, the air before her flickered, and out stepped Yaelra. Modgud rushed towards her. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked her, and the Sin’dorei nodded vaguely.

‘Yes, I’m good. He told me about his immediate plans. We need to get inconspicuous clothes.’ She looked the Forsaken up and down. Modgud grinned. She had donned a robe she had taken from a Twilight Cultist in Silithus. ‘Something that doesn’t send this kind of signal.’

Modgud shrugged. ‘It means I killed the original owner, no?’

Yaelra grinned. ‘Yeah. Let’s move.’

Modgud led the way to the Auction house. When they ran into Agnes in the trade quarter, Modgud struggled with her composure. She greeted her in passing and moved on to the Auction house.

‘Modgud, can I see you later?’

She cursed inwardly and turned to face Agnes with what she hoped was a warm smile. ‘Yes, of course. I don’t think this will take long. Meet you upstairs, in the courtyard?’

Agnes smiled back. ‘Certainly. I’ll wait for you there. Take your time.’

Modgud felt Yaelra’s eyes but refused to speak. They looked through all sorts of dark grey and black clothes. Modgud picked a black set of trousers and shirt and combined it with a balaclava. Yaelra chose a black dress and a shawl.

‘That was Agnes, by the way.’ Modgud said in the middle of their discussion of clothes in the same casual tone. ‘She’s Emily Winters, Grollas told me.’

Yaelra raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’ she made, holding up a very oddly shaped piece of leather clothing. Realising what it was, she dropped it in disgust. ‘Well, be careful then. Want me to come?’

Modgud shook her head. ‘She thinks I trust her. Best it stays that way.’

Yaelra gathered her things and shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve got to be on my way,’ she said briskly. ‘See you, Modgud.’

Ϡ

She felt rather apprehensive about this. The courtyard upstairs wasn’t the most populated part of the city. She saw the other Forsaken sitting on top of the stairs and approached briskly. ‘Hello, Agnes.’

Agnes rose and smiled. ‘Good to see you. Modgud, I’ve come to like and respect you, and I want to share my knowledge of the Cult of Shadows with you.’

Modgud raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh? Great!’ She hoped fervently that she sounded sincere. She made up her mind to listen to what would be fragments of the truth and to sift through the information later in order to extricate whatever could be useful.

‘Do you know what their goal is, Modgud?’

She shrugged. ‘They want to eradicate the living.’

Agnes nodded. ‘Yes. That is what everyone knows. But there is something else. The Cult seeks independence of Sylvanas, which is the real reason why Lordaeron’s Fourteenth is fighting them. They wouldn’t bother if it were merely about protecting the living. The Cult of Shadows thinks that it wasn’t so much Sylvanas’s strength that helped her detach herself from Arthas, but his own weakness.’ Agnes turned with a frown, looking towards the entrance to the city. ‘There’s an elf listening to us.’

Modgud cursed inwardly. ‘Should I check? I’ll chase them away.’

Agnes shook her head and made a quick gesture with her hand. Modgud felt the spell but couldn’t tell what she’d done. It was too different to her own magic. She fought the urge to shove Agnes to the ground and run to check if Yaelra was well. Who else could it be, really? What on earth had Agnes done to her?

Modgud restrained herself with some difficulty. ‘I could go and see if she’s really gone,’ she suggested. Again, Agnes didn’t react at all. Modgud couldn’t just leave. For the greater good, Ira had said when she usurped the Death Dealers. Now it was Modgud saying that mantra to herself. ‘What exactly did you do? It was nothing I’m too familiar with.’ She thought she sounded more interested than worried. She hoped so, at least.

‘I laid my spirit onto a wisp of wind, and sometimes it finds its goal.’ Modgud decided not to comment on that. ‘The Cult of Shadows, I was going to say, uses the living. They give them reasons to cling to their already existent prejudices against the Forsaken, which lends them support from our own ranks in return.’ She produced a parchment with a detailed description of a man. ‘This is Nuruhangbor. If you see someone fitting this description, tell the first guard you find about him. Don’t try and hold him yourself, he is very dangerous.’ She lowered her voice a notch. ‘And I tried to find out something about your Malakaine. I’m sorry. He remains dead.’

Modgud nodded. She realised Agnes had not mentioned that the Cult of Shadows was developing a plague they wanted to spread among all the living, like Grollas had told her. She took her leave and returned to the Undercity. In her room in the Apothecarium, she changed into the clothes she and Yaelra had bought, wrapping the balaclava around her head carefully. She had to see if the Sin’dorei was all right.


	15. Closing a Door

It couldn’t have taken longer than five minutes to locate a slightly flustered but otherwise fine Yaelra in the sewers. She had reported that she had felt a sudden, irresistible urge to look for something there. Modgud had laughed, much to the Sin’dorei’s annoyance. But when Modgud had explained that it was relief rather than amusement, she had smiled at it herself.

Modgud brought her downstairs into the Apothecarium, offering her a change of clothes from her own things so she didn’t have to leave soaked in goo. The new clothes Yaelra had bought at the auction house hadn’t fared much better and would need cleaning, too. Afterwards, she escorted Yaelra back upstairs to the Translocation Orb before she headed back down.

By the time she arrived, something had changed in the mood of the Apothecarium. She noticed that in the inner ring already. When she neared the bridge, she could hear shouting but wasn’t able to make out the words. Modgud did recognise the voices of Faranell and Thyndras, however.

She ran across the bridge, nearly bowling a librarian into the sewage, and skidded to a halt beside Faranell. The screams were coming from someone locked behind a portcullis she hadn’t even known existed. Faranell was yelling back. Thyndras saw her first and raised his hands. ‘Quiet! Faranell, a shouting match with this creature is beneath you. Can we have a dampening spell here?’

Modgud obliged at once. ‘Thyndras, who is that … well.’ She had wanted to say man, but the expression wasn’t quite fitting. He looked like he was built here. Modgud actually knew someone who was built here, but he didn’t look the part that much. The face of the creature was made of patches of flesh, sewn together crudely.

Thyndras looked at her. ‘That,’ he declared, ‘is Fold. Faranell has been so kind to allow us to keep him here for questioning.’ He banged his fist against the portcullis, which clanged loudly. ‘Not that I completely trust this construct. I’ll send guards here, too. Modgud, we are almost there. We have information of all the leaders of the Cult of Shadows. We will find them, and in no time this will be nothing more than a part of history.’

Ϡ

Modgud felt a strong sense of deja-vu when something brushed against her mind only days later. ‘Do not be afraid,’ she heard a whisper in her mind. ‘It is Agnes. Please meet me in the courtyard once more.’

Modgud swallowed. Fold was still locked into his cell, but Thyndras was gone, leaving two guards who weren’t allowed to leave their post. Modgud ignored his screams and hurried out. She felt anxious and scared. It was clear what she had to do. She had to take her and bring her down here, lure her, if possible.

Agnes was sitting in the same spot as last time. She shook herself visibly when she saw Modgud and rose to greet her. ‘Good evening, Modgud. Please, sit down.’ Somehow she seemed off. ‘There are guardsmen behind these doors,’ she said indicating the huge wooden door to her left, ‘out there, and in the throne room. We were all allowed a request. Mine was to see you.’

‘What are you on about.’

Agnes smiled ‘You have won your battle. It is over, the Cult of Shadows is history. And there is something you will hear. I do not want others to tell you, I’d rather I can do that myself. Modgud, I am Emily Winters.’

Modgud hesitated. She considered feigning shock and surprise, considered attacking, but in the end, she merely smiled weakly at the other Forsaken. ‘I know.’

Agnes – no, Emily – raised her eyebrows. ‘You do? How?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘I had my suspicions for a long time and they were confirmed by an acquaintance. Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because I am a captive of Lordaeron’s Fourteenth Infantry Battalion. I shall be executed with the rest of us in three days.’

‘The rest of you?’

Agnes nodded. ‘Nerozud, Fold, me, Brasca, all the leaders.’ She paused. ‘At least the Fourteenth will give us clean deaths.’

Whenever Modgud had thought of this moment, the moment she knew the Cult of Shadows was destroyed, she had thought she would feel joy, would relish in the deaths of them all, including Emily Winters. She hardly believed what she said then, her voice only a whisper. ‘Run. Hide. Jump into the sewers and escape there.’

Emily shook her head. ‘No. I have lost everything. What I fought for is no more.’

Modgud felt her lower lip trembling. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘I thought it was right. And I still do.’ She threw her arms into the air. ‘We … we’re hated by every living being. The people we once knew would kill us on sight. The animals that are the peoples of the Horde hate us for what we are. They would gladly dispose of us. We merely want to defend ourselves.’

‘Only that it isn’t defence if we kill someone who’s not attacking us first.’ Modgud shook her head. ‘I … I will never see eye to eye with you, but no matter how much I hate to admit it, I like you. I want to help you.’

Emily made a sound between a laugh and a sob. ‘Thank you, but I’ll walk to the scaffold with my head held high. In three days, Modgud, at the first vigil. I’m sure you don’t want to miss your victory.’

She didn’t even sound bitter. ‘I believe that is something I can’t do. I cannot watch this.’ She swallowed and rose. Emily did likewise. ‘You are very brave, Emily Winters. I commend you on that, and I will not forget you. Good bye. And thank you.’

Emily tilted her head. ‘For what?’

‘The truth.’ She embraced the other woman. ‘Last chance,’ she whispered.

Emily returned the hug before taking a step backwards. ‘Thank you, but no. Farewell.’

Modgud walked back down to the Apothecarium. Every step of the way was a struggle. Against the impulse to run back and help her, whether she wanted it or not. Against the desperate wish to plead for the other woman’s life. Against the first tears since she’d died. Modgud did none of those things, of course. She walked meekly to her desk and continued her work. She spent two days like that. On the third day, the day of the execution, she went to the Mah’jippa and got well and duly drunk.

When she ran into Grollas a short time later at Light’s Hope Chapel, she asked him if he had heard. He answered in barely more than a growl. In the meantime she had overcome her resentment and felt elated. She raised her eyebrows at Grollas and asked him why he was being so grumpy.

‘Because,’ he answered, ‘they stole my victory. I had no part in what the Fourteenth did. They stole my battle and my triumph.’


	16. Go-Between of Gods

It was a Tuesday evening, and it was warm, and Modgud felt like having a drink. The logical conclusion was paying a visit to the Mah’Jippa. She hadn’t even entered when she heard Razza’s voice from the back. ‘We be closed.’ He sounded strange. The thought to enter when she clearly wasn’t welcome caused her discomfort, but she shook herself firmly and crossed the threshold anyway. Trolls still scared her, but Razza? No. ‘You not hearing me, mon?’ He spun around, looking belligerent. At least, by his standards. When he spotted her, however, his expression softened, and his shoulders slumped visibly.

‘Razza, are you all right?’ Modgud asked quietly.

He nodded, then shook his head. ‘Razza be fine.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Ya’re not buying that.’

‘No.’

Razza glanced at her while she planted herself on the cold oven next to him. ‘Ya sure ya wanna hear this?’

Modgud prodded him. ‘Tell me already.’

Even though she was sitting so high up, Razza was still taller than her. He sighed deeply. ‘Shouky left. With both little ones.’

Modgud’s face fell. ‘Oh no. Why?’

‘Razza did something.’ Modgud wondered if he had been unfaithful. ‘Razza tried to protect her.’

She frowned. ‘Maybe you should be a little more specific. Why would she leave you for that?’

‘Razza was stupid. Razza made deal with Loa.’ He smiled at her confused look. ‘Razza asked that if something happens to Shouky, it happens to Razza instead.’

Modgud was having a hard time believing anything of the sort was possible, but Trolls obviously did. ‘Just to see if I get this right: If someone cuts Shouky, you’re bleeding.’ Razza nodded. ‘And now she’s angry?’

‘Angry, yes. Shouky says she won’t be leaving the house until Razza can undo it. But Razza be unsure if that can be undone.’

Modgud looked at him, hard. ‘Well, you’ve got to try. Of course she’s angry. She loves you.’ He shrugged. It was a very helpless gesture for such a tall creature. ‘You understand why what you did was wrong, don’t you?’ Again, he nodded. ‘If you need my help, in any way, you tell me.’

Razza smiled at her. ‘Come with me then. With me and Chanson and Panapapuakea.’ Modgud didn’t even try and keep that name. ‘We’re going now.’

‘Going where?’

Razza grabbed a bag and tied it to his belt. ‘Zul’Gurub, of course. Razza needs to speak to Loas.’

Ϡ

She had never been there. Why would she? Loas were a concept Modgud simply couldn’t grasp. It was just another religion, a faith people – Trolls, in that specific case – clung to when the real world was too hard on them. But Razza believed. He believed so hard, he walked before the rest of them, dressed only in his kilt, his head held high without a trace of fear. Modgud felt out of place. To her left walked the Troll hunter with the horrible name, to her right Chanson, a Tauren druid who had changed into a very affectionate bear after the introductions were done. For good measure, he had then licked across everyone’s face as a means of greeting. She wondered if he would remember that when he changed back.

Modgud had seen the Trolls of the horde, but the monstrosities that walked around here were a different matter. She made a mental note that she had always been right to be afraid. They found Loa priests, they fought them, and they made their way to the temple in the centre of the ancient city. Razza’jin claimed the priests were corrupted and being used by something sinister.

The source of the corruption was, by its looks, slightly anticlimactic, but when Chanson charged and they fought it, she changed her mind quickly. The Forsaken didn’t care about the injuries she sustained. Razza was keeping them alive, but the effort was taking a visible toll on him. He leaned heavily on his staff when he wasn’t casting, sweat dribbled from his brow, and he was obviously uneasy. When the creature – a wind serpent of some sort, to Modgud’s eyes – was defeated, she sagged to her knees with exhaustion. Chanson, too, was panting with his tongue lolling out. The hunter let his bow fall and rushed to tend to the boar that was his companion. But it wasn’t his voice that gave a shout of fear. ‘Oh no. No, please.’ Chanson’s voice was deep and carrying, very much bearlike even in his normal form. He had walked over to Razza, who lay motionless on the stone. She rushed towards him, ignoring the barely disguised scepticism in the hunter’s eyes. No one trusted a Forsaken.

Only Chanson did. He backed away and stared at her. ‘Is he breathing?’

Modgud didn’t tell him that as a druid he should be able to see that himself. She laid two shaking fingers to his neck. There was something, very weak, but there. ‘He’s alive,’ she announced, relief bringing her to the verge of tears. She fought them successfully. Fumbling in her bag, she produced a potion.

‘Hold,’ the hunter said. ‘What’s dat ya be giving him?’

She glared up at the Troll. ‘Rejuvenation potion.’

‘How do we know dat?’

Chanson shook his head. ‘This isn’t helping him. Modgud, go ahead.’ She nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hunter take a step towards her, but Chanson reached out and restrained him. Gently, Modgud tipped the potion down Razza’s throat and made sure he swallowed. They didn’t have to wait long. He stirred. ‘I’m thinking someone should apologise,’ Chanson said softly. The hunter ignored him.

Modgud couldn’t care less. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly.

Razza scrambled to a sitting position. ‘Thank you. Yeah, Razza be fine.’

She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Did that get you anywhere?’

He managed a smile. Modgud had no idea how. ‘Not one bit. But Razza had to try. Let’s leave.’

When they left the city, Razza said good bye to Chanson and the hunter. He exchanged a few words in Zandali with the latter, and she believed she caught her name. At last, he turned to her. ‘Remember the owner?’ he asked, showing her a staff they had taken from one of the corrupted priestesses.

‘The one with the panthers,’ Modgud answered, unable to remember the name.

Razza nodded. ‘Arlokk. This be very powerful. You take it.’

Gingerly, Modgud grabbed the staff. She could feel the power it held. ‘Razza … you …’

He smiled. ‘Razza don’t need it. Keep it. It keep ya safe, my friend.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This needs a few more words.  
>  Panapapuakea has no qualms with Forsaken, I believe. I only met him twice, but I think know a few of the player’s other toons, and they certainly don’t. Also, I don’t remember anything specific about this excursion to Zul’Gurub. I don’t think I was entirely sober. I know that it was Razza’s event, I know Chanson was our tank, and I am very certain there was a fourth person, but I have no way in hell to say who. I’m very certain it wasn’t this one, but I’ll be damned if I know. So the only truth in that chapter is: I was in Zul’Gurub with Razza and a Chan and someone else. I got the Will of Arlokk, I believe via lootmaster because I was too shy to say I wanted it. I certainly remember fighting Hakkar, but I don’t even know if we killed him. I highly doubt it. Oh, Chan and Razza were 70, I was 65 or so.))_


	17. Opening a Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((In my old notes, the meeting in Brill is at a time I know was before the battle for the Undercity, but I believe it was later. Since I don’t have anything indicating that, other than my memory, however, I’ll keep the order it was in originally.))_

There was nothing Modgud hated with more fervour than a plan that went completely wrong. At least, she had always thought so. This time, however, she was glad about the one thing that didn’t work out.

She wondered vaguely what she was doing here. The sign in the Undercity asking all Forsaken to come to a meeting in Brill had given her an ominous feeling, which was the main reason why she decided to go.

She had asked someone to transform her into a ghost with one of the funny wands everyone was pointing left, right, and centre. She didn’t want to be recognised. You never knew with Forsaken. Who she would talk to if she didn’t like what she saw, she had no idea. The logical answer was Razza’jin. No matter who saw her with a group of traitors, he would never believe that she was doing anything else than spying. But she couldn’t expect or even accept active help from him. Somehow he had managed to undo his horrible deal with the Loa, and Shouky and his children were back. He couldn’t take risks.

She walked towards the town hall cautiously, still pondering who else she could trust. And there he stood, tall and in the same robe she had first seen him in. Their eyes met and a frown creased his forehead. She dismissed the idea that he might recognise her. ‘The … the other one said we should go in?’ she asked. Her voice sounded wispy like that of a spirit. Good. Without answering, the man kept staring at her. She walked past him quickly and into the town hall, praying to whatever gods there might be to make him stop.

He didn’t. She was feeling increasingly certain that somehow, he had recognised her. She shook her head by a fraction, willing him to understand that he should stop it before someone noticed the wordless exchange. Perhaps he wasn’t certain about her intentions? At least he reacted this time. He winked at her, and a wave of relief went through her.

The meeting wasn’t much more than an auction of all odd sorts of things. She got a recipe out of it. It looked very much like a botched attempt at a very volatile poison. It was clear that these Forsaken weren’t benevolent. They didn’t try to hide it, either. They wanted to conquer. They wanted the world for themselves. They echoed the phrase ‘Death to the Living’ so many spewed out these days. Not a Cult of Shadows, but certainly a similar ideology.

When she left, she glanced at him again. She offered a small nod and walked towards the Undercity. She had her ally back: Grollas Veilgrave.

Ϡ

The city felt restive. She couldn’t point her finger at anything specific that triggered the thought, but there was definitely something in the air. The Apothecarium didn’t seem like a place to be, Faranell was hectic, he had everyone’s workspace searched, and he was constantly on edge. He requested extra guards and was denied. He barked at everyone with the nerve to address him, and Modgud couldn’t even blame him. Something was wrong. She suspected an assault of a couple of rogue Forsaken somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms. Probably there was some apprentice of the Apothecarium involved. He’d wind up dead. Such things were not tolerated.

Ϡ

Modgud wasn’t thinking what she was doing. Because if she started there, she also had to think about why she had to do it, and then she would either scream and refuse to keep going, or she would launch into battle like a berserker and die because she lost her head. Instead, she followed her orders. Orders coming from Thrall and Sylvanas, no less.

She hardly recognised the city. So much destruction, the stench of demons, the roar of battle … There was a cancerous rage growing deep inside her, but she had to suppress that for now. The traitors would be punished. Varimathras was one thing. You couldn’t trust a demon. But Putress … That one stung. He would pay. They both would.

When the battle was done, she hardly heard the words that were exchanged by all the people involved. She merely collapsed onto one of the field beds in the throne room and felt like she would never move again.

Ϡ

The technology for the radio, someone had once said, had been stolen from Gnomeregan. Many people had a device to hear it. Modgud was one of them. The summons for the Apothecaries of Undercity came there, and it didn’t surprise her. Faranell had taken Putress’s betrayal as a personal insult and had decimated their numbers. Apparently he wanted to make a speech to the rest of them, pointing out the consequences of treason. Only the summons was for a night she knew Faranell wouldn’t be anywhere near the Apothecarium. That rang odd.

They wanted to discuss their science, the unfamiliar voice said. Plans for the future. But what plans might that be? Did she even want to know, after all that had happened? But then again … right now wasn’t a time anyone would suggest a stunt like Putress’s. Not any time soon.

Well, worrying wouldn’t help. She had to be there and see what this was about. Maybe it would turn out perfectly harmless.


	18. The Music In My Mind

Modgud walked down the stairs into a crowded Apothecarium. She knew no-one of those present, felt alone in a mass of strangers. A tall Forsaken stepped onto a table in order to overlook the crowd. ‘Faranell,’ he announced, ‘is not here, at this moment, but we have things to discuss that we should keep … among ourselves. We will therefore head to the Apothecary Camp. Does anyone not know how to get there?’ There was some muttering, but she wasn’t listening. She was on her way already.

Once there, Modgud noticed the one thing that was out of place at once. There was a very young adult Troll chained to a pile that had been driven into the frozen ground. She knew enough about Trolls to see that this wasn’t some wild creature out of the forests. She was dead certain he was a Troll of the Horde. She wondered what he’d done to upset the apothecaries in Northrend.

Slowly, people trickled into the camp. The first speaker, a man named Obeross, introduced himself as the head of the so-called Hand of Retribution. Beside him stood a female with no jaw and a board in her hand on which she wrote what she wanted to say. There was a short exchange between the two. Afterwards, Obeross stood next to the Troll. The female approached him with a vial. His eyes widened, and he tried to back off with a stream of fast Zandali. She offered Obeross an exasperated look. The tall Forsaken grabbed the Troll from behind, securing his arms behind his back, and he succumbed, allowing the female to tip whatever the vial held down his throat. He even swallowed. Modgud felt a lump in her throat. This couldn’t be good.

‘This patient,’ Obeross began, ‘has been given an agent we have developed and improved over the past few weeks. It is a very potent poison that causes a plague-like disease that takes its course very quickly.’

That was an understatement. The Troll was already visibly pale and obviously beginning to gasp for air. Modgud realised Obeross was speaking, but her eyes were on the poor poisoned creature, her mind not caring for the words of the monster. How long before the Troll would die?

‘Is this agent going to raise him after death?’ the voice made her turn with a start. He was right behind her, but in her revulsion, she hadn’t noticed. Grollas’s expression was unreadable. He was way better at this than she.

‘No, this is something we haven’t accomplished.’

Grollas nodded. An agonised wail came from the Troll and Modgud had a terrible vision. Instead of this young Troll, she saw Razza’jin, his face contorted in pain and fear. The mage felt sick and angry. She felt a strong hand on her arm, and only now she realised she had taken a step forward, a plan formed quickly: a few spells, faked interest, a quick teleport somewhere, taking the Troll along for the ride … trying to fix him.

Grollas held her with an iron grip. ‘Stay put,’ he snarled at her.

She nodded. He was right, of course. The poor thing was lost. Modgud stood alone against a crowd too huge for her. She was shaking all over, but apart from Grollas no one had noticed. They were all way too fascinated with what was going on. Obeross was still droning on about the effects of his hell of a poison. But they were getting bored, it seemed, for now a mage stepped forward and launched a fireball at the Troll. He was instantly dead.

‘What good did that do anyone?’ Modgud blurted out. ‘If you call this disgusting display science, why interrupt the process?’

Grollas yanked her around. ‘What are you doing?’

She tore herself free from his grasp. ‘This is gratuitous. Completely.’

For a few seconds they stared at each other before he spoke. ‘Shut up or leave.’ He walked past her and after Obeross, who was having the dead Troll carried to a building. Modgud hesitated, but in the end, she followed. She had to.

They dissected the Troll. With an axe, no less. To Modgud, it was obvious that the only point of this had been to torture someone and to demonstrate power. This last only served to confirm that notion. What Obeross was doing to the body wasn’t a dissection, it was butchery. She managed to get a grip on herself and watch him tear the Troll limb from limb, carving into his belly. The liver was removed. They said it was damaged from the poison, but Modgud refused to look closely enough to see. There was a very real chance that she might vomit if she did, and that would probably be highly unseemly for a Forsaken. She felt sorry for the poor, awfully young, Troll, wondered if his family was waiting for him to come home from a hunt, or if they had all been murdered. She wanted nothing more than out.

Hastily, Modgud scribbled a few words, asking for a meeting in Thunder Bluff, onto a piece of parchment, slipped it into Grollas’s hand as she walked past, and left. Outside she teleported to Thunder Bluff. She walked to the Spirit Rise and sat down in the empty tent that had been Razza’jin’s before he had moved. The nails of her left hand were dug so hard into right arm she was drawing blood. It was the only thing that stopped her from screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((The chapter heading is part of the lyrics of_ 1.19 _, a song by Lacuna Coil. They never said what the title or the lyrics mean, but the words of this song fit the chapter, its mood, and even the events of it, very well.  
>  I had to write this one from memory, so no real quotes, and I'm not even sure if it was Obeross’s doing at all. But since he’s (or was?) heading the Hand, I use him for it. Also, I’m not certain if this was done in the Apothecary Camp at all, I only recall it was somewhere North with a bunch of Forsaken.))_


	19. Deceiver of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Chapter heading is the title of a Within Temptation song.))_

When Modgud heard steps coming up the Spirit Rise, she darted outside. It was Grollas, his expression as unreadable as before. ‘You should never have gone there,’ he told her without preamble.

Modgud threw her arms in the air and glared at him. ‘How could I not go? You know I had to.’

Grollas cocked his head. ‘Where do your loyalties lie, Modgud Gaunt?’

She stared at him. ‘You’ve got to ask?’ He merely waited with raised eyebrows. ‘This … was absolutely disgusting. You _know_ where I stand, damn you. You can’t doubt me, not after I risked my neck against the Cult of Shadows.’

Grollas sighed. ‘That was a long time ago.’

Modgud glared at him. ‘Long enough to forget the horror? So now we’ve settled my opinion, _I’ve_ got to ask, because I don’t get what you’re trying to do here: Where do you stand? What about your … loyalties?’

Another sigh. ‘I am not for the apothecaries. But I am not against them, either.’ It took the best part of a minute for that answer to sink in. Modgud leaned against a totem and sank to the floor, her face in her hands. She was speechless, Grollas’s voice penetrating her mind, chipping away at her resolve. ‘You do not have the nerve for these things, as you showed clearly. Stay out of it. You cannot do anything. And don’t tell anyone, because no-one will believe you. The only thing you can achieve is losing your life and your mind.’

Modgud lowered her hands, looking up into the indifferent face of someone who had suddenly become a stranger. ‘How can you talk like that? How can you _think_ like that? Did you not see what they did to that Troll?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no qualms with Trolls. My hatred is for the Blood Elves. All of them. They’re all insane, don’t you see that? Look into their eyes, there’s madness and evil.’

Modgud scrambled to her feet. ‘What about Yaelra?’ she all but yelled.

Grollas looked at her. ‘She’s not a Sin’dorei.’

‘Perhaps you should be more worried about your own mind than mine.’ She took a step towards him, her face inches from his. ‘I see I cannot expect help from you. But I have one more question. I ask you, because I asked myself something very similar, and I know my answer: Would you have watched if they’d had Yaelra instead of that Troll?’

Grollas shot her a look of pure venom. ‘I do not let anyone look inside my soul.’

Modgud laughed, too maddened to be cowed by the much taller man. ‘Thanks, I have no intention to do that. My own shards are quite enough.’

The anger slipped from Grollas’s face. ‘Shards … You got me there. I think I would have stopped them. But not for the Sin’dorei. For Yaelra. My views remain the same.’ He turned his back on her, ready to walk. Modgud fought the impulse to bowl him from the cliff. Maybe he felt her glare at the back of his head, for after a few steps, he stopped. He swore and faced her once again.

Modgud was tethering on losing control at the cold look on his face. She balled her hands into fists. ‘Go already, before I do something violent.’

He ignored her. ‘Listen closely, Modgud. Rakbar was one of the Cult of Shadows. He tried to kill Fold a long time ago. He failed. Now he’s hiding from the Hand of Retribution. Do you know why? Because I believe Fold is alive, tricked the Fourteenth somehow. And that’s why Rakbar’s hiding. The Fourteenth fear that the Hand is a new Cult of Shadows, and that fear is justified. I will not betray you, Modgud, I promise you that. But I will not … I _cannot_ help you either. We will not speak of this again.’


	20. Breaking Point

The voice in her head awoke her in the middle of the night. ‘Come to Sun Rock. Now. I need to show you something.’

Modgud focussed on the origin of the voice. She had done this before, knew the signature of the mind seeking contact well enough to reply. She couldn’t initiate an exchange like this, but answering worked. ‘Why would I want to?’

‘Trust me.’

With a sigh, she got up. It was a short flight, and she could already see dawn colouring the rim of the world. Grollas was sitting on the small wooden bridge with a dour expression. ‘Look at them. Look around and tell me what you see.’

Modgud sat down across him. ‘I see a small village in the mountains. I see a lot of people. But I don’t know what on earth you mean.’

Grollas nodded. ‘Sin’dorei, not people. They’ve had some sort of … gathering here. I watched them. Now I want you to do the same. I want you to look around you and tell me what you see.’

Modgud did as she was told. She thought it might have been a wedding last night, and that some of the guests were still awake. There was no one she knew, and she was ignored peacefully. They didn’t bother her, some asked her what she was doing and if she needed anything. But nothing worrisome. She told Grollas as much.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you will see it in time. I want you to do something for me. Are there any mice in the Death Dealers’ fortress?’

Modgud raised her eyebrows. ‘I am very certain there are plenty in the stables.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘Why, do you want to cook them?’

Grollas frowned. ‘No. I want you to kill them. And not with a trap. Catch them alive and kill them. Bring me twenty dead mice in three days.’

Modgud stared at him. ‘Are you insane?’

He rose and looked down at her. ‘No. I am trying to help you. You cringed from the base agony of a complete stranger like a little girl. I want you to prove to me that you can, in fact, kill something innocent. You need to steel yourself, and after your display at the camp I suggest you start small.’

Modgud folded her arms. ‘Do you think I’m a child?’

Grollas shook his head. ‘No. I believe you are very determined, fairly blockheaded, and right now, rather weak. You won’t last a week like this. I wasn’t joking when I said you will lose your life. I don’t want that. Now do as I say.’ He took a deep breath, then looked at her, his gaze fixing hers. ‘One last thing. I promised Krunk Dunhold help.’

Modgud raised her eyebrows. ‘He fought the Cult of Shadows. I remember you mentioned him then.’ Grollas nodded. ‘I assume he opposes the apothecaries.’

Another nod. ‘He does. I am not promising you anything. I just want to keep that door open.’

Modgud thought of something to say to that and found nothing. ‘Well … I’ll go and chase mice then.’

Ϡ

Modgud held the small squirming creature between thumb and forefinger and looked at it closely. She had pulled it out of one of the live catch traps she had placed in the stables. The mage cocked her head and held a finger of her free hand before its nose. It bit. ‘You little bum.’ She smiled at the animal. A small, well-aimed fireball killed it. Modgud put the dead mouse into a jute sack that was much too large for twenty of its sort. Grollas would get a surprise.

Modgud sighed. She still wasn’t certain if she pitied him or if she wanted to rip him to shreds. But for the latter she could understand him too well. She couldn’t tell him that, of course. Grollas would never believe her. But yes, she understood.

How often had madness tried to get its claws into her head? What had stopped her from losing it had either been lack of time for thinking about the horrors, or a spell and the gentle words of a Troll priest. She wondered if an organisation like the Hand of Retribution would have found support from her if she had never run into Chantaz all those years ago, hadn’t bothered getting closer to the living. The honest answer was probably yes.

Modgud opened the second trap. The mouse inside it was already dead. She had no idea what had killed it, but she flung a fireball at it for good measure. A mouse was a mouse, after all, and somehow she had killed it, albeit indirectly.

In the third trap, there was a rat. Almost the same thing, really, but those she liked better for some reason. She didn’t make the mistake to take it out of the trap but killed it while it was still inside. Modgud made a mental note to inform Ira of this. Rats were more worrisome than mice. Something had to be done.

Whatever had driven Grollas to join those self-proclaimed apothecaries as well as Dunhold, whom she only knew from hearsay, he wasn’t entirely as certain of his new worldview as he had seemed back in Thunder Bluff. It wasn’t like she wished for him to feel torn, but apparently during their conversation she had made scratches in his philosophy. She hadn’t even planned that, but it bolstered her up more than anything else could have. It was why she hadn’t refused to do this exercise: He had to believe in her, and if hunting mice helped, so be it.

It had been difficult for Grollas to acknowledge that he was uncertain. There were many things Modgud could have said, but all of them would have been horribly wrong. Neither triumph nor understanding or a solemn assertion that this was a good thing would have done anything than throw him back. Perhaps her silence was the only answer that didn’t do any harm.

The fourth trap was empty, the last had a young mouse that joined the other animals. Modgud reset the traps and brought them back into the stables. She would look again in a few hours.

_  
_


	21. Dinner in the Monastery

‘Any reason why it has to be here? I mean, Tyr’s Hand is crawling with the Scarlet idiots, too.’ Modgud smiled at Juanee. When she had asked if someone of the Death Dealers wanted to accompany her, the Tauren had agreed to come at once.

‘Yes, but I heard one person here has a blade I might like.’

Juanee looked her up and down. ‘Where’s your staff, anyway?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘Lost, stolen, I don’t know. I’ve got one from Zul’Gurub, but I’d rather keep that one in a safe place long as I don’t know where mine got. What on earth is going on there?’

Modgud pointed ahead of them. A Troll and a Forsaken were standing over the corpse of one of the scarlet types, apparently quarrelling who had killed them and to whom something they had been carrying belonged. It was rather comical, really. Modgud watched for a few moments before clearing her throat. Both jumped. ‘Trouble?’ They stared at her, and now Modgud recognised the Forsaken as Syra, the one who had introduced her to Malakaine van Tassel ages ago.

‘This Troll here is a thief!’ she said at once.

The Troll bridled. ‘No, no. Suleiman be stolen from.’

Modgud looked at him. ‘Suleiman, eh?’ She sighed. ‘There’s more of these fools where that came from. We’re heading inside. You can join us if you’re peaceful.’ Syra folded her arms, apparently wanting to argue. Modgud knew better than to say more. ‘Well, Juanee, let’s be on our way.’ She saw both of them falling into step beside her, the body of the crusader forgotten. The two Death Dealers exchanged a glance and grinned.

The place was swarming with red-clad fanatics. Modgud didn’t understand a word they were saying, except they seemed to be talking about someone named Lars. ‘Lars?’ Syra asked at one point. ‘What Lars are they on about?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘Perhaps one of their leaders.’

Juanee tutted. ‘They don’t have a leader called Lars. Maybe a captive.’

‘In that case we should find him.’

Juanee nodded solemnly. Syra and Suleiman kept bickering all the way through the Monastery, but it was mostly the Forsaken that started it. Modgud found many things on the crusader she’d been sent after but no dagger. She was all for heading out, but Juanee hesitated. ‘What about Lars?’

Syra rolled her eyes. ‘What do you care? Probably a human.’ Modgud considered for a moment. She wanted to agree with Syra. A spell had hit her and it seemed to increase her anger about the lost dagger to no end. She had even slapped a mystified Suleiman for killing a rabbit. At one point she’d felt a sudden urge to eat one of the chaplains on the way and had hardly managed to resist. And yet …

‘Maybe he’s an Argent Dawn person,’ she said doubtfully.

Syra threw her arms in the air. ‘Who cares? Will teach him to be more careful.’ For half a minute, Modgud was torn between Syra and Juanee who were both looking at her. She met Suleiman’s eyes.

‘What do you want to do?’ He looked surprised at her question, then slightly alarmed. ‘Come on, tell me.’

‘We shouldn’t be leaving someone wid dem.’ He indicated the body of a chaplain with his foot.

Modgud took a deep breath, fighting another surge of hunger and ire. ‘I’m sorry, Syra. We will look for Lars. You can go, if you like.’

Syra glared at her. ‘You’re wasting your time. At least help me get out in one piece.’

A hard grin formed on Modgud’s face. ‘Wasting more time in the process? I don’t think so. If you want to leave, you’re on your own.’

Ϡ

They scoured the Monastery from the cellar to the belfry. The spell that had hit her was a festering worm in her mind. At one point, her resolve broke and she threw herself onto the fresh corpse of yet another chaplain, tearing large chunks flesh from him and swallowing with relish. The frenzy left her and she looked up, blood dribbling from her mouth. They all stared at her, Syra with a smirk, Juanee with forced calm, Suleiman with sympathy. He was the one who approached her and offered a piece of cloth – judging from the colour torn off the clothes of another body – to wipe her mouth. He knelt down beside her and looked at her.

‘Ya be all right?’ Modgud nodded. She was ashamed, yes, but still so hungry … ‘He got ya good. Ya mad about something?’ Another nod. ‘Right. Dere. Drink dis. Be calming ya.’

Modgud stared at the vial he offered. She wanted to refuse, her fear of his kind threatening to show, but she shook it off. ‘What is it?’

He smiled. ‘Trollweed, brewed into a spirit. Ya be acting like a raging Troll, ya get da same treatment. C’mon.’

Before she could really think about it, Modgud took the small vial and drained it. She felt nothing and told him as much.

Suleiman laughed. ‘Ya be patient. Just a bit.’

They found torture devices, but no trace of someone called Lars, only the crusaders shouting something about him. The last thing they searched was the Cathedral itself. By the time they reached it, Suleiman’s drink had done what he had promised and calmed her. She was still feeling the restlessness the spell had caused her, but she had a grip on it. She made a mental note to thank him. Once all was clear in the Cathedral, they found a chamber in the back. Modgud tugged at a torch and a hidden door opened. Behind it, there was a sarcophagus. They tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

Defeated, they headed back outside. Juanee sighed. ‘I feel we should do something. For the deceased.’

‘You think he’s dead, then?’ Modgud asked.

Suleiman nodded slowly. ‘Sure he be dead.’

Syra swore. ‘We don’t even know if he exists! For all we know, Lars is just a word we don’t understand.’

Juanee gave her a long, dark look. ‘Of course. But there is a chance that it isn’t.’

Modgud looked at her. ‘What do you have in mind?’

Juanee smiled. She produced four totems and placed them around them. ‘Spirits of fire, air, earth, and water. Join me. Let me honour the unknown deceased, Lars, tortured and murdered by the Scarlet Crusade. Give him peace and save passage to the realm of spirits.’

Syra muttered something, Suleiman nodded solemnly, and Modgud felt out of place. And yet … there was some something palpable in the air, nothing she could point her finger at, but definitely something.

‘Syra, I am not going to ask you this because you refused me once already,’ Modgud said when they were out in the open again. ‘You I’ll ask, Suleiman. Would you like to come with us to our fortress? You would be welcome to join the Death Dealers.’

Suleiman blinked at her. ‘Ya be known to many, ya know. Why would ya want Suleiman?’

Modgud folded her arms and answered in a crisp voice. ‘One, you helped me out in there. Two, you weren’t the one bickering. Three … I like you. Pure and simple.’

Suleiman looked from her to Juanee. ‘And ya can decide dat?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘Ira will do that. But she won’t say no if we ask. And we will both do that. Won’t we?’

Juanee smiled at her. ‘We will.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Mixing two trips to the Monastery. One where I actually went to get the Hypnotic Blade because I was an idiot and sold my staff to a vendor. I didn’t want to ask for a once-in-a-lifetime recovery. I think I ran through the damn place 10 times before it dropped. I was quite angry by then, and so was Modgud. She got out sick because she had eaten so many chaplains.  
>  The other was Syra. Syra and Juanee are sister in real life, and both my cousins, and just for the heck of it we all went. We met Suleiman along the way and took him with us. We had never seen him before. It was absolutely hilarious, the entire Lars-thing became some sort of running gag for the longest of times. Syra was in our guild at that time, but only for a few months, so I changed that. Suleiman joined shortly after.))_


	22. A History Lesson

Modgud followed Grollas to the Caverns of Time with growing bewilderment. ‘What are we doing here?’

He faced her with a hard look on his face. ‘Have you ever been here? Witnessed what happened?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘I have. So what?’

He glared at her. ‘So you need to understand what it was like for the people. We’re going to Stratholme.’

Modgud restrained him before he walked through the portal. ‘We will, die Grollas! We’re just two!’

He tutted, an impatient look on his face. ‘You will not speak to Chromie. We will just look around.’ Modgud shook her head. ‘Quiet. You need to promise me something. If you don’t, we cannot go.’

Slightly alarmed, Modgud nodded. ‘What is it?’

He took a deep breath. ‘The first time I visited Southshore in the past I had to be removed. I am not certain if I will be able to leave here.’ He didn’t meet her eye, and that was a first. He had told her things he knew she didn’t want to hear, but he had never avoided looking at her.

Modgud wondered what she would do if Grollas refused to walk. She swallowed. ‘I promise you to help you get out safe.’

Grollas’s mouth twitched and he nodded at her. He steeled himself visibly and stepped through the portal.

Modgud felt the tug on her body as they passed through the thin borderline between now and then. She screwed up her face, wondering why she had to do this to herself. Her eyes took in Grollas. He looked strange, she found. Not because he was alive, but because he was wearing a queer expression. Distant. Sad. Neither were things she had ever seen on his face. ‘What now?’ she asked impatiently, covering her own uncertainty.

‘Follow me,’ he replied and led the way.

It was interesting, she had to give him that. People were sick, and they were looking for someone to blame. They found their victims in a man selling food, in the mayor, in the neighbour they had always found strange. There were angry mobs all over the place. There was despair and a threat of violence in the air. It made her want to turn her back on this horrible vision and never return. Grollas told her things about the time and the city. Things she knew. She listened anyway, more to the people than to him. Then he fell silent, and Modgud took the time to watch him. He longed for these people. For the past. It was a shock for her.

On their way through Stratholme, Modgud learned something about herself, too: Without noticing, she had left an enormous burden behind her. Towards the end of her life, she remembered by now, she was obsessed with making her father pay for Merope’s death at the hands of an abusive husband and for abandoning his people. This bitterness, the hatred, the wish to find and kill him, had still been there after her death. Now, it was all gone. Her own death meant nothing to her, nor did the human, intact body, or the fates of people long since gone. ‘I want to leave.’ She hadn’t noticed she had spoken the words out loud before Grollas looked at her. ‘I have no business here. This place belongs to the dead. The actual dead. Not the Forsaken.’

Grollas nodded. ‘Let’s leave.’

They passed the gate, and Modgud thought he had exaggerated. But shortly after they had left the city, Grollas slowed down. ‘Come on, there’s nothing for us here,’ she said. He shook himself visibly and increased his pace again. He drifted off to the left, towards the water and the mists. She walked past him and stood before him, blocking his way. ‘Grollas, look at me.’ He did. ‘We have got to leave.’ She spoke very deliberately, hoping he was listening.

He didn’t look like it, but in the end, he nodded. ‘Soon. Just let me …’ He looked at the lake, then at his hands. ‘If I leave, I am a corpse, Modgud. Wouldn’t you rather stay here? Alive?’

She stared at him. ‘If we stay, we’ll die all over again with the rest of these people. Or be removed by the dragons. Grollas, please!’ She took his arm and tentatively guided him back towards the path. He obeyed without resistance, walking slowly but steadily. Her fear was beginning to ebb, when he stopped abruptly, turned, and began striding back. ‘No!’ Modgud ran after him, stood before him, but this time he brushed her aside. She was well aware that she couldn’t fight him, neither with fists nor with magic. ‘Grollas, stop!’ She grabbed him, hard, spun him around and shook him. ‘Look at me. Look! This isn’t me! And that … that weak, pathetic thing, that isn’t you. We fight for what we think is right, we’re not controlled by the shadows of the past! There’s so much to do … I can’t force you, Grollas. But you’ve got to leave. Now, before it’s too late and you really can’t!’

She didn’t think she’d got through, but then there was a curt nod, and he headed towards the house, the cellar, and at last the portal. There he stopped once again. ‘Leave me here.’

Modgud shook her head. ‘No. You’re coming with me. Come one, Grollas, just two more steps and you’ll be all right.’ It was a lie, of course. Whatever was messing with him was there all the time, suppressed and controlled under normal circumstances.

He took the final step. They were outside.

Modgud had no time to contemplate her own physical change. The anguish on Grollas’s face as he beheld his hands, the hands of a Forsaken, was too prominent for her to waste a single thought on herself. There were tears streaking down his cheeks, and he didn’t even brush them away. ‘I ask you to open a portal for us. To Shattrath.’

Modgud, for once, obeyed without question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This can indeed be done, and if you never have, I recommend it: Go to Stratholme in the past and don’t trigger the event. You can listen to the people before it all went to hell. Very well done, interesting that they bothered, and worth the time. Showing me this is one of the things for which I’ll be eternally grateful to the p.o. Grollas.))_


	23. A Method to the Madness

Modgud had overcome her shock and Grollas his agony. They were sitting in the inn on the Aldor Rise, shielded from the wind outside. ‘Why did we go there?’ Modgud asked at last.

Grollas rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I wanted to see your reaction to the impressions of the past. I must say, I am surprised.’ His expression was serious but as friendly as she’d ever seen it. ‘Modgud, do you trust me?’ She wanted to answer at once, but then she considered. ‘No flat out yes, so I will very likely get the truth. You have good reasons not to. I just wondered.’

She did have reasons. But despite the horrible first impression he had made on her a long time ago, and despite his display after the slaughter of the Troll, she had come to not only respect but like the other Forsaken. ‘Well. You will probably curse me for being stupid, Grollas, but … yes, I trust you.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting. I will ask you something personal then. Tell me what you brought into this life from your past. And before you think I’m just plain nosy, there’s a reason for this. There is no such thing as a Forsaken without a burden. You are getting into a fight that may cost you everything. I want to know what makes you beat. I want to know who you are, behind the wall of knowledge and zeal.’

Modgud nodded slowly. ‘Very well. But it’s like I kept only important memories, like the rest just … left me. One thing I remember is that Merope – my sister – often came to visit me. She sold her stuff in Lordaeron. She was a tailor, you see. We fought so often. I always tried to tell her to stay, to leave her husband. I don’t know how often she was black and blue, one time she had a broken arm I swear he gave her.’ A sad smile formed on her face. ‘I remember vividly that I told her not to be surprised if one day she woke up dead. And that’s what happened in the end. He killed her. Beat her to death.’

‘Do you remember how you heard about that?’ Grollas’s voice was unusually gentle.

‘Yes. A few weeks later, after she was buried, I was told. I’d never felt so angry in my life. I wanted to kill her husband. I wanted to kill my father. I had neither of them at my hands.’ She looked at the other Forsaken. ‘I have never wanted anyone dead so badly, Grollas. Neither before, nor after. And when I returned to this life, I still carried all that anger. I went as far as looking for traces of my father, but … I don’t know. I lost interest, strangely enough.’

‘You’ve spoken of him once before. Do you recall your mother at all?’

Modgud shrugged. ‘Nothing precise. She died when I was very young.’

He smirked. It had been a bone of contention before. When she had died she was still an adolescent, and it had taken Grollas a long time to take her seriously. In his eyes, she was still very young. ‘Follow me.’ He opened a Portal to the Undercity. From there, they walked up to Brill. ‘You are from here, you told me. I’m assuming there’s a grave with your family name.’ Modgud looked at him, wanted to ask why, but refrained. Instead, she led him there. ‘Is your sister buried here?’

Modgud shook her head. ‘No, she didn’t stay in Brill. Only my mother, seeing how my father fled when things got serious.’

‘Aetheldra Gaunt, I take it. I wonder, what would you do if you found out that your father is alive somewhere?’

‘Nothing. I cannot waste my energy on looking for him.’

Grollas nodded. ‘What would you feel if he were standing right here, in front of you?’ His gaze was intense, trying to see to the core of her soul.

Modgud searched herself for the truth, and what she found surprised her. ‘Revulsion. No anger. Not anymore.’

Grollas raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting. I have another question, something altogether different. You told me who the Death Dealers’ officers are. I know most of them except for one Dago. Who is he?’

Modgud knew that he was going to explode at this. Grollas’s hatred for warlocks was no secret, and the fact that she had saved one under such suspicious circumstances would not find his approval. There was no point in lying, though. ‘A Forsaken I found in Andorhal. Araj had resurrected him. I defeated Araj and saved the Forsaken. He had struggled, and when Araj went down, he was freed. He was a mage in his former life, quite a powerful one, I think. He lost his life and his powers fighting that demon that attacked Light’s Hope Chapel. He developed a more sinister brand of magic after his death, though.’

Grollas shook his head at her. The rebuke that followed was mild. ‘You should know better than to save a random warlock who could be a spy for all you know. Do you trust him?’

Modgud grinned. ‘As far as I can toss him. I wouldn’t drag him into the business with the Hand, I don’t know how he feels about such things; and if I asked, I wouldn’t expect the truth.’

Grollas looked at the grave again. He closed his eyes, muttered under his breath, and formed a circle with his hands. A wreath of flowers appeared on the grave. ‘I bid you farewell, Modgud. I am going to Andorhal.’

She frowned slightly. ‘To do what?’ Did he want to find out if there was anything indicating that Dago was a spy of the scourge?

‘That has something to do with _my_ parents,’ Grollas replied simply. He bowed, something he had never done before, and left at a slow pace. Modgud realised then that she had a lot more pity in her for this man than for the entire population of Stratholme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((I have no record of the conversation with Grollas. The wreath I remember, and his line about what he’s going to do in Andorhal, too. The rest is between free and invented. He asked about her past, but knew much more at that point than he does in this story. He knew the facts, he asked for her view of them. I believe we had the ‘do you trust me’ conversation at one point, too. I am certain I once gave that answer, but I’m not even sure if that was WoW.  
>  My friend, if ever you stumble across this, I hope I didn’t write your guy too friendly. If I did, pray do forgive me.))_


	24. The Final Straw

Modgud leaned against the wall behind her and sighed. ‘Ya be all right?’

Modgud smiled at Razza’jin, for once nothing worrying her. At least no immediate danger. ‘I’m good, Razza. I wondered, where’s your porter?’

‘Took tonight off. Razza’s gotta keep unwelcome guests out himself. But that be fine.’

She nodded. Usually, it was quiet. There was the odd warlock or death knight that tried to come in, but by now people knew that Razza didn’t want them. Modgud was grateful he didn’t ban Forsaken in general. The Mah’Jippa had great food, and apart from that, a friend.

‘Illustrious clientèle, don’t you think?’ The voice was unfamiliar. Modgud glanced at the door. She didn’t know the two Forsaken standing there. Not a good sign.

‘Very much so. All living scum. And one of ours.’

Only now it struck her they were using Gutterspeak. Razza approached them with a frown. Modgud remained on her bench, wishing she could melt into the wall.

‘Ya speak civil or ya go.’

‘You hear him blabbing? Uncouth creature. About time someone takes this place into their own hands.’

Modgud stared at them, fear grabbing her like a giant fist. One of them was cloaked in shadow. He was none too tall, but he seemed dangerous. The other she couldn’t tell, but his bulk was enough to block the doorway.

Razza was either unafraid or he hid his fear well. She made an account of the people here. A few drunken guests that ignored the Forsaken, a serving girl that tried to disappear behind a barrel. The two entered.

‘Out. Both of ya. Ya’re not welcome.’

‘It’s so hard to understand these types,’ the big one said, still using Gutterspeak. ‘And they smell.’

The other one laughed. ‘We’ll burn this place and you inside it. If you’re lucky we’ll gut you before.’

The sensible thing to do was get somewhere behind a barrel herself and teleport the hell out. The sensible thing for any Forsaken might even be ignoring it all. If she did, they wouldn’t harm her, being one of _their own_. ‘Enough.’ Her voice cracked like a whip, her fear inaudible.

Razza spun and looked at her hard. ‘Leave.’

The shadow grinned. ‘How fast the scum turns on you. You want to do the honours?’

Modgud shook her head. She knew exactly why Razza wanted her to get out, and it had nothing to do with turning on her. She looked at him standing tall beside her. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Want to know what they’re saying, or is it all the same to you?’

Razza nodded. ‘No, tell.’

Modgud folded her arms. ‘They said they would burn the place and kill you, either by murdering you before or by letting you burn. They mocked you and said you were turning on me.’

The big Forsaken took a step towards her. ‘You little bitch. We’ll bring death to all living beings. And we’ll remember you. You’ll die with the scum.’

Modgud smiled. She was still afraid, but something stopped her from fleeing. ‘They say they want to destroy all life.’ She spoke loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the tavern now. Some of the guests got to their feet, although they kept a distance. ‘They say they’ll kill me, too, for helping.’ Modgud had no idea why her translating made the two so mad. It wasn’t as if they were making a secret of their mindset. She took a step closer to them. She felt Razza’s hand on her arm, trying to restrain her, but she was too far gone. Standing aside while someone was hurt once was bad enough. She would never forget her vision with Razza as the Hand’s victim. She wouldn’t allow this horror to come true. Not as long as she could fight. ‘I’ll attack you if you do not leave at once. I’ll freeze you, burn you, destroy you so that nothing is left of you except for an unidentifiable crisp. Do what Razza told you. Get lost.’ She felt a touch of magic, felt the protection from Razza’s spell.

‘Keep your little bitch.’ The shadowed Forsaken had noticed it too, it seemed. ‘We’ll come for you, Troll. And you, bitch.’

‘You make sure I don’t get you first.’ Modgud watched them go. When they were out of sight, she slumped down on her seat again and buried her face in her hands.

Razza knelt beside her, putting his arms around her shaking form. ‘Thank ya. But that be dangerous.’

The mage disentangled herself from his embrace and glared at him. ‘What would it make me to stand by and do nothing?’

He smiled slightly. ‘Safer.’

A maniacal laugh formed in her throat. ‘Right. Razza, I think I need something stronger than milk now.’

He nodded. ‘At once.’

Ϡ

Modgud stayed in the Mah’Jippa until the last of the guests were gone that night. Shouky had arrived at one point, and they had talked about Razza’s stunt with the Loa, about the little ones, and many other things. Modgud didn’t want to mention the events from earlier in the evening, but then she figured it was better Shouky knew the score. The Troll girl took it in stride. She wasn’t a stranger to threats.

After Razza had cleared everything, she offered opening a portal to Thunder Bluff for them, and he accepted. ‘Will ya be all right?’ he asked her.

Modgud smiled. ‘There are a few things I need to arrange. These people and their likes have to be dealt with.’

‘Ya be careful.’

Modgud laughed. ‘I’ve been told that way too often. Look after your family, Razza. Watch your back. I’ll … I’ll do something about this, and I’ll do it now. I can’t wait and prepare until everyone I care about is dead.’


	25. Trollish Tutelage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Compared to the rest of this story, this is a fairly long chapter, but I didn’t want to rip it apart. I had this conversation in game, and it was longer, because I had quite a bit of small talk with the kids that are mentioned.))_

She stared at the staff that was brought to her by the strange woman. She was shorter than Modgud, even, and her face looked as if someone had attacked it with a harrow. The guards of Orgrimmar had apprehended her and notified Modgud that they had caught someone trying to steal from her vault. Now the woman claimed she had intended to return what she had borrowed before.

Modgud smiled. ‘This is brilliant. What do the guards do to thieves?’

The woman cringed. ‘They hang them.’

Modgud tutted. ‘They’d have to be a bit more creative, but I suppose the result is correct. The thing is, I need a spy. If you get caught as one, you’re dead. But if I give you to the guards, you’re dead as well. Who are you?’

‘Vrilya,’ the small woman replied tremulously.

Modgud nodded. ‘Why did you choose my vault to steal from?’

Vrilya shrugged. ‘It was one of the easier locks. I don’t even know who you are.’

Modgud’s smile became less pleasant. ‘And that is why this is so brilliant. You cannot betray me if you don’t know me. You’ll soon receive a letter with instructions. How we will communicate in the future I don’t know, but I’ll work something out.’

‘And if I do this to your satisfaction?’

‘You’re free. If you help me, you can go, and I will, in fact, be very grateful.’

Ϡ

Shadowprey wasn’t a safe place for a Forsaken. The Trolls there didn’t like her kind, and she knew it. Normally she wouldn’t even contemplate going there, but tonight, she had to. She felt the eyes on her, heard the talk behind her back in Zandali. She approached a female that wasn’t looking as angry as the rest of them. ‘I am looking for Razza’jin Ven’jin.’ After a moment, the Troll indicated the hut beside the gong. With a muttered thanks, Modgud hurried over.

Razza was talking to someone, so she kept her distance. He acknowledged her with a smile and a nod and beckoned her over. The other Troll bade him farewell, and with a sideways glance at her, he left. ‘Taz, Modgud,’ Razza greeted her.

She managed a smile. ‘I would like to speak to you, if you’ve got time.’ Only now she noticed the two little Trolls, a boy and a girl, staring at her from behind Razza.

‘You know her?’ a carrying whisper came from one of them.

‘Yeah, Razza knows Modgud.’

The girl looked awed. ‘Cool.’

Razza gestured to the floor before him. ‘Sit down.’

She walked over to the spot indicated to her, trying not to seem menacing. The two kids were rather small. ‘Thank you.’

She watched the two climb into their father’s lap and look her up and down from their safe vantage point. Their names were Jackmol’jin and Venca, and they asked her all sorts of questions, which she willingly answered. Perhaps it would change the way the next generation viewed her kind if these two liked her. They certainly weren’t scared, and to Modgud’s astonishment, they didn’t have the typical accent. At last, they fell asleep, and Modgud could get to the point that had brought her here in the first place.

She started by telling Razza’jin that she knew now that one of the two unwelcome guests had been Rakbar. Grollas had told her that after a description of the two. Then she told him about the Hand of Retribution, which was more worrisome by far than a man shouting out his hatred for the world to hear. The Hand were more subtle. Razza’s statement that there were Orcs standing guard in the Undercity didn’t change a thing.

‘They aren’t stupid enough to work in the Undercity,’ she told him. ‘I have seen them in action only once and that was in Northrend. They … captured someone and poisoned him, merely to see what it would do to him.’ She decided to keep the details to herself. She didn’t want to go through it all again. ‘They were so many, I couldn’t have stopped them. And … Razza, I know how horrible that sounds, but if I want to stop them I need to watch them first. I need to see what they intend to do. If I shout out what I think of them they’ll only become more careful. My only option is to learn what their ultimate goal is and stop them from reaching it.’

Razza nodded. ‘They got allies among other peoples?’

She shrugged. ‘Yes, but that is just for the sake of appearance.’

She didn’t have evidence for that, but she was willing to bet her right hand. ‘Hm hm hm. Stay alert, but be careful. Right?’

Modgud smiled. ‘Sure. The thing is, I have placed a spy among them. One with better composure than I have. But I cannot visit her, and I dare not write. I cannot risk that she is found out.’

Razza took a deep breath. ‘Razza not wanting to ask, but can Razza help ya?’

She nodded. ‘You can. And it isn’t dangerous for you and your family. I swear.’

‘Yeah? How?’

And she explained. Explained that she wanted to contact her spy in a trance, that she didn’t know how to do that, and that she wasn’t going to trust a Forsaken mage trainer.

Razza looked at her for a moment before he answered. ‘Okay, listen up. It will likely be a different way than what you normally know. But it be Razza’s only way. Razza been talking about fog to you before. Of spirit realm and such.’ Modgud nodded. Razza held his left hand up, shaped as if it was holding a ball. ‘Here be our world. Where we be talking.’ Again, she nodded. He now raised his right hand in the same way. ‘And here be world of ancestors, of spirits and Loas. Normally both be far apart. Like this.’ Razza shook both his hands with the worlds one after the other. ‘But if someone be dying, then they can go from here to there. Understand?’

‘Yes, so far.’ Modgud was rapt by his explanation. It wasn’t exactly a scientist’s view, but this was all she would get.

‘Okay,’ Razza continued. ‘Between the worlds be dense fog.’

‘So dense no one can pass through it,’ she muttered, almost to herself.

‘Yes. And in the fog, there be dangers lurking. That be like … like animals in the wilds. If ya don’t know your way around it, it be dangerous in the fog.’

‘That sounds very plausible,’ Modgud confirmed.

‘Okay,’ Razza said again. ‘So … Now Razza explains why fog be important for ya. If ya manage to get into the fog, ya can go very far in a very short time. So ya go into the fog,’ Razza shook his left hand for emphasis, ‘and then ya go to another part of world.’ He turned his hand now, and Modgud realised that without the gestures he would have lost her here. ‘There ya can whisper to other people through the fog.’

Modgud leaned forward. ‘How do I find someone in the fog?’ She assumed it wasn’t nearly as easy as answering to Grollas’s voice when she heard him speaking in her mind.

‘Ya must know them very well. That or ya need a guide in the fog. Razza talked about wild animals. Dangers in the fog be much more sentient than animals. If ya have the right gift, ya can lure one of the spirits and haggle with them.’

Modgud had the absurd vision of herself trying to offer a white rose to a spirit. ‘And they help me find someone?’ She tried to keep the scepticism out of her voice.

Razza nodded. ‘Indeed. They find ways through the fog.’

‘That would be very helpful.’ The mage pushed all her doubts away. ‘What … what sort of gift do you offer a spirit?’

‘Something with mojo,’ Razza told her unhelpfully. Seeing her baffled expression, he smiled. ‘Mojo not being the liquid ya can buy bottled in Booty Bay.’

Modgud grinned at him. ‘I didn’t think so.’

‘Mojo be … be love. Razza’ll explain.’ He took a child’s drawing with clumsy pictures of trolls from one of the empty cages behind him and laid it on the floor before Modgud. ‘There be mighty mojo in this.’

The Forsaken nodded. ‘Because it has meaning for you. One that is deeper than the actual tangible value.’

‘Yeah. Mojo be time of your life you’ve put into something.’

Modgud sighed. ‘And I would have to give away something like that?’ She had a few things that she was certain fulfilled the requirements, but she was certain she wanted to keep them.

‘Yeah, something like that ya must bring as a gift. Something that be valuable to ya. Or to someone ya bought it from, or swapped it.’

‘Oh, I see, it just has to be important to someone. Because that’s the thing, you don’t want to give something like that away.’

Razza smiled. ‘Can also be good rum. Or expensive robes. Or blood. Anything that be important and valuable. But that is for when ya can walk in the fog. Question: How do ya get into the fog?’ Modgud tilted her head and looked at him. ‘Not that easy. Or yes, it be easy. But ya must be careful. Normally ya get into the fog when ya die. So ya must get to similar state as dying.’

‘That sounds a little dangerous.’ Modgud wondered what an experiment of that sort might do to her.

‘Yeah, it be dangerous. There be different ways. Some people go through pain. Others through hunger. And many other ways. Absolute silence. Razza’s done that once, but will never again. Scares Razza.’ Modgud swallowed. If something could scare this Troll, she would certainly not try it. ‘Razza goes through hunger when needing to be in fog. There be priests that drink poison. Or use jagweed.’

Modgud grinned. ‘The mage trainer in Undercity mentioned that. But I doubt if that or hunger can be strong enough for a Forsaken.’

Razza shrugged. ‘Razza not be sure what happens to ya when ya get into fog. Ya been on the other side once.’ He scratched at his chin. ‘Maybe Samedi be reaching for ya.’ Samedi, Razza had once told her, was the Loa of sleep and death, and he didn’t like Forsaken.

Modgud rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘Razza, if he wants me, he can get me anyway.’ He didn’t look overly convinced. He explained that she had to burn her gift in ritual flames so she would have it in the fog.

‘Say, Razza, could I use Blood of Heroes, if I find it? That seems to be rather powerful. And dangerous to collect.’

‘Yeah, that be really strong. Could work well with that.’

Modgud smiled at him and got to her feet. ‘Yes, well, then I’ll go looking for that. And I’ll think of an alternative.’

‘If ya need help the first time ya do this, ya tell Razza.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll do that. Thank you so much, Razza.’ She walked away, knowing there was no way she would drag Razza further into this by asking him to assist her. You could never know what happened, and she felt she had risked too much by talking to him already.


	26. Breathe No More

Asking a friend wasn’t an option. So Modgud asked an acquaintance instead. She didn’t trust Nejali like she trusted Razza, but she wouldn’t risk him getting hurt. She had explained it all to the Troll, that she should keep an eye on her, help her if she sensed she got into trouble. Nejali had promised to watch her. And so she started.

She used the diary of her father as the gift. Knowing nothing about ritual flames, she simply burned it with a spell. She focussed inward, she channelled her own magic inward, feeling the excruciating, overwhelming pain. And then, it grew dark.

After only a minute, if not less, Modgud opened her eyes again. There were people there. Where they’d come from in the few moments she had been out of it, she had no idea. ‘Nejali,’ Modgud said, when she had managed to gather herself, ‘Nejali, who on earth are these people? Where do they come from? There was no one there ten minutes ago.’

Nejali glared at her. ‘Ten minutes?’ she echoed. ‘Ten minutes! Ya been out twelve moons.’

Modgud ran a hand through her hair and found a shell in it. Frowning, she took note of herself. She was decorated with all sorts of stuff over and over. ‘What on earth?’

Nejali shrugged. ‘Nejali watched. Nejali tried ta wake mouldy one. Mouldy one not moving. Nejali keeps watching. But now Nejali wants mouldy one gone from dis forest.’

‘And these people?’

A goblin stood before her, looking very proud of himself. ‘I woke you up. I am Krazzok.’

Modgud blinked at him. She tried to take in the people around her, one of whom, she found out, belonged to the Hand of Retaliation. So that still existed. After a while, Krazzok came back to her, and she managed to thank him for helping Nejali try and wake her up. What had done the trick, in the end, she didn’t know. Hell, she didn’t even know what had happened in the trance.

Krazzok asked her about her business, and after a while, he confided that he didn’t like Trolls. ‘Except,’ he said, ‘one. Razza’jin Ven’jin was a dear friend.’

Modgud stared at him. ‘Was?’ Krazzok shrugged, apparently wondering if he had said something he shouldn’t have. She took a step closer. ‘What do you mean? He’s my friend, too. Come on.’

‘How long did you know him?’

Modgud swallowed. ‘Ages. Did something happen to him?’

Krazzok nodded. ‘Yes. Months ago. Demons attacked Shadowprey. Many died, some were dragged away. Razza and his family were among them. I tried to look for them, investigated where they had vanished with them, but I found nothing.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry. I don’t want to give you false hope. We all know what demons do to people they capture. They torture their souls into all eternity. We can only hope that Razza’s Loa saved him from that fate. That he has peace.’

Modgud couldn’t hear him anymore. She waited until she was alone in Nejali’s strange forest. Then, she sat down in the fairy ring she’d been sitting in all the time, and stared at a particularly large mushroom.

This was her fault. If she hadn’t gone to ask for help, this wouldn’t have happened. Somehow, someone had manipulated those demons. She should have stayed away from Razza the moment she knew she wanted to fight the Hand, perhaps even since the Cult of Shadows. Now she had effectively killed someone she cared for.

And that was when it struck her. She cared, cared so much she felt she was bleeding and couldn’t staunch the deadly flow. And this time, her resolve shattered into a million pieces. For the first time since she’d died, she wept bitter tears. And the worst of it was, a part of her thought that it wasn’t even for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((So this is my (admittedly anticlimactic) conclusion to this.  
> Nejali’s ritual was planned by her and me and happened in the Whispering Wood in Tirisfal. The conversation with Krazzok was a little longer, but since I managed to murder all my data soon after, I couldn’t look anything up the screenshots I made. Oh well, I didn’t want this chapter to be long anyway.  
> Chapter heading is an Evanescence song.  
> It has now been … what? Three years? Since I last played WoW, but now I have a colleague who does, and I’m getting sentimental. So I decided to post this here as a displacement activity.))


End file.
